I  THE  ROAD 
TO  PARIS 

BY 
RN-STEPHENS 


<KK.  i 

A<>  '  OKS 

240  l,  • 

1-0*0     £.-:•        r 


Works  of 

ROBERT  NEIL80N  STEPHENS 


An  Enemy  to  the  King 

(Sixth  Thousand) 

The  Continental  Dragoon 

(Fifth  Thousand) 

The  Road  to  Paris 


L.  C.  PAGE  AND  COMPANY,  Publishers 

(Incorporated) 

196  Summer  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 


THE   ROAD  TO  PARIS 


"A    WILD    THRUST    BETRAYED    THAT    HIS    EYE    WAS    XO 
LONGER    TRUE." 


Copyright,  1898 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  AND  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


Colonial 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  U.S.A. 


"D'Artagnan  .  .  .  touched  the  earth,  moistened 
with  the  evening  dew,  with  the  ends  of  his  fingers, 
crossed  Jiimself  as  if  at  the  holy-water  vessel  of  a 
churcJi,  and  retook  alone  —  ever  alone  —  the  road  to 

m'  — THE  VISCOUNT  OF  BKAGELONNE. 


CONTENTS. 

HATTER  PAGE 

INTRODUCTION ix 

I.  A  LODGE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  ,    .    .    i 

II.      "OVER   THE    HlLLS    AND    FAR    A  WAY  "  .         21 

III.  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  GEORGE  ...   50 

IV.  OF  A  BROKEN  SABBATH  AND  BROKEN 

HEADS    .   .    .    .    .  .72 

V.  FROM  BROADWAY  TO  BUNKER  HILL    .  .      92 

VI.  THE  WIND  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE      .        .  .118 

VII.  THE  MARCH  THROUGH  MAINE      .         .  .150 

VIII.  WITHIN  THE  WALLS  OF  QUEBEC         .  .175 

IX.  THE  INCIDENTS  OF  A  SNOWY    NIGHT.  .     201 

X.  "  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD"     ....     227 

XI.  THREE   WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN    AND   A 

BEAUTIFUL  LADY         .         .        .  -257 

XII.  THE  DEVIL  TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN  .     288 

XIII.  "Up  AND  DOWN  IN  LONDON  TOWN".  .     323 

XIV.  "FAIR  STOOD  THE  WIND  FOR  FRANCE"  352 
XV.  AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A  DILIGENCE    .  .376 

XVI.     PASTORAL  AND  TRAGEDY      ....    401 
XVII.     "  STONE     WALLS     Do     NOT     A    PRISON 

MAKE" 426 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.  DICK   GIVES  A  SPECIMEN   OF   AMERICAN 

SHOOTING     .        .        .        .        .        .452 

XIX.  THE  FAVOR  OF  A  PRINCE     ....  474 

XX.  THE   HONOR  OF  A  LADY-IN-WAITING    .         .  499 

XXI.  "THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS"        ....  524 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

"  A    WILD    THRUST   BETRAYED    THAT    HIS    EYE   WAS    NO 

LONGER  TRUE  ".....  Frontispiece 
"  THE  NEWCOMER  WAS  APPARENTLY  ABOUT  FORTY 

YEARS  OLD" 36 

"  IT  WAS  THE  MAN  SENT  BY  ARNOLD  "...  223 

"  BEARING  THE  SWOONING  FORM  OF  AMABEL  "  .  .  294 

"'OH,  YOU  HAVE  A  VISITOR!  MON  DlEU,  SlLVIUS  !  "  43! 

"FREDERICK.  II.  RECOILED  A  STEP  OR  TWO"  .  .  518 


INTRODUCTION. 


"WiTH  our  company  of  riflemen  that  marched  in 
Arnold's  army  through  the  Maine  wilderness  to 
attack  Quebec,  there  was  a  sergeant's  wife,  a  large 
and  sturdy  woman,  no  common  camp-follower,  but 
decent  and  respected,  who  one  day,  when  the  troops 
started  to  wade  through  a  freezing  pond,  of  which 
they  broke  the  thin  ice  coating  with  the  butts  of 
their  guns,  calmly  lifted  her  skirts  above  her  waist 
and  strode  in,  and  so  kept  the  greater  part  of  her 
clothes  dry  in  crossing.  Not  a  man  of  us  made  a 
jest,  or  even  grinned,  so  natural  was  her  action  in  the 
circumstances.  I  have  often  used  this  instance  to 
show  that  what  the  world  calls  modesty  is  a  matter 
of  time  and  place,  and  I  now  hold  that  too  much 
modesty  is  out  of  time  and  place  when  a  man  who 
has  had  more  than  a  fair  share  of  remarkable  experi 
ences  undertakes  a  true  relation  of  the  extraordinary 
adventures  that  have  befallen  him.  So,  if  the  narra 
tive  on  which  I  am  setting  out  be  marred  by  any 
affectation,  it  will  not  be  the  affectation  of  modesty. 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy  in  our  valley  behind  the  Blue 
Mountains  of  Pennsylvania,  I  used  to  read  the  'True 
Travels,  Adventures,  and  Observations  of  Captain 
John  Smith,  in. Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  and  America, 
from  1593  to  1629,'  and  wonder  whether  I  should 
ever  have  any  travels  or  adventures  of  my  own  to 
make  a  book  of.  When,  afterwards,  I  did  go  a 
travelling,  and  adventures  did  come  thick  and  fast 
upon  me,  I  was  too  much  engrossed  in  the  travels 
and  adventures  themselves  to  give  a  thought  as  to 
what  matter  they  might  be  for  narration.  Not  till  this 
breathing-place  came  in  my  life,  did  my  boyhood 
dreams  return  to  my  mind,  and  did  I  realize  that 
my  part  in  battle  and  imprisonment,  danger  and 
escape,  love  and  intrigue,  would  make  a  book  that 
might  be  worth  fireside  reading.  That  book  I  now 
begin,  and  shall  probably  finish  it  if  I  be  not  inter 
rupted  by  untimely  death  or  by  some  new  call  to 
scenes  of  enterprise  and  turmoil,  —  for  it  is  no  retired 
veteran,  but  a  man  early  in  his  twenties,  that  here 
tries  whether  with  pen  and  ink  he  can  make  as  fair 
a  show  as  he  has  already  made  with  implements  less 
peaceful." 

The  foregoing  lines  constitute  the  first  two  para 
graphs  of  a  book  entitled  "  The  Travels  and  Adven 
tures  of  Richard  Wetheral,  in  America,  England, 
France,  and  Germany,  in  the  years  1775,  1776, 
1777,  and  1778,"  of  which  it  happens,  by  strange 


INTRODUCTION.  XI 

circumstance,  that  I  possess  the  only  copy.  The 
title-page  shows  that  it  was  published  by  (or  "  printed 
for ")  J.  Robson,  Bookseller,  in  New  Bond  Street, 
London,  in  1785.  The  three  brown  i6mo  volumes 
first  caught  my  glance  when  they  lay  with  a  heap  of 
ragged  books  on  a  board  before  a  second-hand  shop 
in  Twenty-sixth  Street,  there  being  attached  to  the 
board  a  weather-beaten  square  of  pasteboard,  bearing 
the  legend,  "  Your  choice  for  ten  cents."  Not  until 
I  had  paid  the  dealer  thirty  cents  and  separated  the 
three  volumes  forever  from  their  musty  companions, 
which  were  mostly  of  a  theological  character,  did  I 
discover,  by  parting  a  blank  leaf  from  the  adjacent 
cover,  to  which  it  had  long  been  sticking,  that  the 
book  was  a  treasure,  for  which  the  dealer  would  have 
charged  me  as  many  dollars  as  I  had  paid  cents,  had 
he  anticipated  my  discovery.  The  long-concealed 
page  bore  on  its  brown-spotted  surface  an  inscription, 
in  eighteenth  century  handwriting,  turned  yellow 
by  age,  signed  by  the  author  of  the  book,  and  to  the 
effect  that  he  had  caused  his  true  narrative  to  be 
published  without  his  wife's  knowledge,  thinking  this 
book  might  afford  her  a  pleasant  surprise,  but  that 
the  surprise  with  which  she  first  perused  it  was  so 
far  from  pleasant,  she  had  forthwith,  in  the  name  of 
modesty,  demanded  its  immediate  suppression,  which 
was  at  once  accomplished  by  her  indulgent  husband, 
who  had  preserved  only  this  one  copy  for  the  benefit 


INTRODUCTION. 


of  posterity.  When  I  asked  the  bookseller  how  he 
had  come  by  the  copy,  he  told  me,  after  an  investiga 
tion,  that  he  had  bought  it  with  a  lot  of  religious 
books  from  the  servant  of  a  very  old  lady  recently 
deceased.  The  dealer  had  thought,  from  the  com 
pany  in  which  it  came,  that  the  "  travels  and  adven 
tures  "  were  those  of  some  clergyman  of  a  hundred 
years  ago,  and  he  had  placed  the  three  much  dilapida 
ted  volumes  among  the  ten-cent  rubbish  accordingly. 
In  giving  this  astonishing  record  of  eighteenth 
century  vicissitudes  to  the  world,  I  have  two  reasons 
for  making  myself  the  historian,  and  not  presenting 
the  hero's  book  in  his  own  correct  and  straightfor 
ward  English.  The  first  reason  is,  the  public  has 
been  so  satiated  recently  with  novels  told  in  the  first 
person  singular,  that  even  a  genuine  autobiography 
must  at  this  time  be  swallowed,  if  at  all,  with  some 
nausea.  The  second  reason  is  that  the  hero,  writing 
only  of  his  own  doings  and  his  own  witnessings  and 
in  his  own  day,  necessarily  omitted  many  details, 
obtainable  by  me  from  other  sources,  and  useful  not 
only  for  filling  in  the  background  of  his  narrative,  but 
also  that  they  throw  light  on  some  points  that  were 
not  quite  clear  to  himself. 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

A    LODGE    IN    THE    WILDERNESS. 

IN  the  Jacobite  army  that  followed  Prince  Charlie 
and  shared  defeat  with  him  at  Culloden  in  1746, 
were  some  who  escaped  hanging  at  Carlisle  or  else 
where  by  fleeing  to  Scottish  ports  and  obtaining 
passage  over  the  water.  A  few,  like  the  Young 
Chevalier  himself,  fled  to  the  continent  of  Europe ; 
but  some  crossed  the  ocean  and  made  new  lives  for 
themselves  in  Virginia,  Pennsylvania,  and  other 
provinces.  Two  of  these  refugees,  tarrying  not  in 
the  thickly  settled  strip  of  country  along  the  Atlantic 
coast,  but  pushing  at  once  to  the  backwoods  of 
Pennsylvania,  were  Hugh  Mercer,  the  young  sur 
geon  destined  to  die  gloriously  as  an  American  gen 
eral  thirty  years  later,  and  Alexander  Wetheral,  one 
of  the  few  Englishmen  who  had  rallied  to  the  Stuart 
standard  at  its  last  unfurling.  From  Philadelphia, 
where  they  disembarked  from  the  vessel  that  had 


2  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

brought  them  from  Leith,  straight  westward  through 
Lancaster  and  across  the  Susquehanna,  the  two  young 
men  made  a  journey  which,  thanks  to  the  privations 
they  had  to  endure,  was  a  good  first  lesson  in  the 
school  of  wilderness  life. 

They  arrived  one  evening  at  the  wigwams  of  a 
Shawnee  village  on  the  verge  of  a  beaver  pond,  and 
were  received  in  so  friendly  a  manner  by  the  Indians 
that  Wetheral  decided  to  live  for  a  time  among  them. 
Mercer,  joined  by  some  other  enterprising  newcomers 
from  the  old  country,  went  farther  westward  ;  but 
the  two  friends  were  destined  to  meet  often  again. 
Wetheral  built  himself  a  hut  near  the  Indian  village 
and  indulged  to  the  full  his  love  of  hunting,  fishing, 
and  roaming  the  silent  forest.  Often  he  saw  other 
white  men,  for  already  the  Scotch  and  Irish  and 
English  had  begun  to  build  their  cabins  and  to  clear 
small  fields  on  both  sides  of  the  Susquehanna,  across 
which  river  there  were  ferries  at  a  few  infantile  set 
tlements.  By  1750  so  many  other  English  and 
Scotch,  some  of  the  men  having  their  wives  with 
them,  had  put  up  log  cabins  near  Wetheral's,  and 
had  cleared  ground  for  farming  all  around,  that  the 
settlement  merited  a  name,  and  took  that  of  Car 
lisle.  The  Indians,  succumbing  to  the  inevitable, 
betook  themselves  elsewhere. 

Wetheral,  with  all  his  love  for  the  free  life  of  the 
woods,  welcomed  civilization,  for  he  was  of  gentle 


A   LODGE  IN  THE    WILDERNESS.  3 

birth  and  of  what  passed  in  those  days  as  good  edu 
cation,  and  had  a  taste  for  learning.  His  life  was 
now  more  diversified.  He  not  only  hunted  and 
fished,  but  also  cultivated  a  few  acres,  and  during  a 
part  of  each  year  he  did  the  duties  of  schoolmaster  to 
the  settlement,  —  for  the  Scotch-Irish,  like  the  Puri 
tans  of  New  England,  went  in  for  book-learning. 
He  sent  the  skins  obtained  by  him  in  the  chase  to 
Philadelphia  by  pack-horse,  and  sometimes,  for  the 
sake  of  variety,  accompanied  them,  passing,  on  the 
way,  through  the  belt  of  country  industriously  tilled 
by  the  growing  German  Protestant  population,  and 
through  that  occupied  by  Quakers  and  other  Eng 
lish,  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Philadelphia.  In 
his  own  neighborhood  the  people  of  the  best  manners 
and  information  were  Presbyterians,  and  in  course  of 
time  he  came  to  count  himself  as  one  of  them,  less 
from  religious  ideas  than  from  a  natural  wish  to 
associate  himself  with  the  respectable  and  lettered 
element;  for,  much  as  he  loved  the  roaming  life  of 
the  hunter,  he  was  repelled  by  the  coarseness  and 
violence  and  ill  living  of  a  certain  class  of  nomadic 
frontiersmen  who  doubtless  had  good  reason  to  keep 
their  distance  from  politer  communities. 

He  was  one  of  the  Pennsylvanians  who  went  as 
pioneers  in  Braddock's  fatal  expedition,  and  on  that 
he  saw  Colonel  Washington.  He  marched  with  his 
old  friend,  Hugh  Mercer,  in  the  battalion  of  three 


4  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

hundred  men  under  Col.  John  Armstrong,  of  Car 
lisle,  in  1756,  from  Fort  Shirley  to  the  Indian  town 
of  Kittanning,  which  the  troops  destroyed  after  kill 
ing  most  of  its  hostile  inhabitants.  During  a  part 
of  that  year  and  of  the  next,  he  served  in  the  pro 
vincial  garrison  at  Fort  Augusta,  far  north  from 
Carlisle,  and  east  of  the  Susquehanna. 

Returning  home  when  his  period  of  enlistment 
was  up,  he  stopped  at  the  large  house  of  a  prosperous 
English  settler  possessing  part  of  a  fine  island  in  the 
Susquehanna,  fell  in  love  with  one  of  the  settler's 
daughters,  prolonged  his  visit  two  weeks,  proposed 
marriage  to  the  daughter,  was  accepted,  spoke  to  her 
father,  was  by  him  violently  rejected  and  subsequently 
ejected,  ran  away  with  the  girl,  or  rather  paddled 
away,  for  the  means  of  locomotion  in  this  elopement 
was  an  Indian  canoe,  and  was  married  in  the  settle 
ment  of  Paxton,  near  John  Harris's  ferry,  by  the 
Reverend  John  Elder. 

As  the  young  wife,  who  was  kind  of  heart  and  wise 
of  head,  desired  to  be  near  the  roof  whence  she  had 
fled,  that  a  reconciliation  might  be  the  more  easily 
attempted,  Wetheral  traded  off  his  field  and  cabin 
at  Carlisle,  returned  northward  across  the  Kitocktin- 
ning  mountains  to  the  neighborhood  of  his  wife's 
former  home,  built  a  log  house  of  two  rooms  and  a 
loft,  near  the  left  bank  of  the  Juniata,  a  few  miles 
above  that  river's  junction  with  the  Susquehanna, 


A    LODGE   IN   THE    WILDERNESS.  5 

and  there,  in  the  month  of  April,  1758,  he  became 
the  father  of  Richard  Wetheral,  the  hero  of  this 
book. 

The  child's  arrival  was  aided  by  his  maternal 
grandmother,  who  had  already  melted  towards  the 
young  couple,  although  her  husband  still  held  out 
against  them.  The  surgeon  whom  Mr.  Wetheral 
had  summoned  from  Fort  Hunter,  which  the  settlers 
were  garrisoning  because  of  signs  of  an  Indian  out 
break,  arrived  too  late  to  do  more  than  pronounce 
the  boy  a  healthy  specimen  and  predict  the  speedy 
recovery  of  the  mother,  who  was  indeed  of  sturdy 
stock.  The  household  whose  different  members  the 
observant  infant  soon  began  to  discriminate  consisted 
of  the  father,  whose  dauntless  and  hearty  character 
has  already  been  slightly  indicated ;  the  mother,  who 
was  comely  and  strong  in  nature  as  in  face  and  form  ; 
a  younger  sister  of  the  mother's,  and  a  raw  but 
ready  youth  hired  by  the  father  to  aid  in  working  the 
little  rude  farm  and  in  protecting  the  family  from 
any  of  the  now  rampant  Indians  who  might  threaten 
it.  For  Mr.  Wetheral's  house  was  so  near  Fort 
Hunter  that  he  chose  to  stay  and  occupy  it  rather 
than  to  take  refuge  within  the  stockade  of  the  fort, 
which  latter  course  was  followed  by  many  settlers  of 
the  near-by  valleys  when  the  Indian  alarm  came 
in  the  month  of  our  hero's  birth. 

But  the  Wetherals  were  not  molested  by  any  of 


6  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

the  Indians  that  roamed  the  woods  in  small  parties, 
in  quest  of  the  scalps  of  palefaces,  during  the  spring 
and  summer  of  1758.  Often,  though,  there  came 
news  by  horse  and  canoe,  and  carried  from  settle 
ment  to  settlement,  from  farm-cabin  to  farm-cabin, 
of  frequent  depredations  :  how  in  York  County 
Robert  Buck  was  killed  and  scalped  at  Jamieson's 
house  and  all  the  rest  of  its  dwellers  were  carried 
away  ;  how,  near  at  home,  in  Sherman's  Valley,  a 
woman  was  horribly  killed  and  scalped ;  how,  in 
July,  Captain  Craig,  riding  about  seven  miles  from 
Harris's  Ferry,  was  suddenly  struck  in  the  face  by  a 
tomahawk  thrown  from  ambush,  put  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  fled  from  his  yelling  savage  assailants, 
escaping  by  sheer  speed  of  his  animal,  the  blood 
flowing  from  the  huge  gash  cut  in  his  cheek  by  the 
well-aimed  hatchet ;  how  fared  the  soldiers  who  set 
off  in  search  and  pursuit  of  the  red-faced  enemy,  and 
who  were  none  other  than  the  hardiest  of  the  settlers 
themselves,  accustomed  to  shoot  Indians  or  bear,  to 
burn  out  rattlesnake  nests,  or  to  farm  the  ill-cleared 
land,  as  occasion  might  require. 

Thus  the  talk  to  which  Dick  Wetheral  (for  it  was 
early  settled  that  he  should  be  called  Richard,  a 
favorite  name  in  his  mother's  family)  became  accus 
tomed,  as  soon  as  he  knew  what  any  talk  meant,  was 
of  frightful  perils  and  daring  achievements.  Such 
talk  continued  throughout  all  his  childhood,  though 


A    LODGE  IN   THE    WILDERNESS.  J 

after  1758  the  Indians  were  peaceful  towards  central 
Pennsylvania  until  1763. 

The  boy  early  showed  an  adventurous  disposition. 
His  first  explorations,  conducted  on  all-fours,  were 
confined  to  the  two  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  of 
the  house,  but  at  that  stage  of  his  career  a  journey 
to  the  end  of  the  kitchen  from  the  extremity  of  the 
other  apartment,  which  served  as  parlor  and  princi 
pal  bedroom,  was  one  of  length  and  incident.  New 
territory  was  opened  to  him  to  roam,  on  that  event 
ful  day  when  his  aunt  carried  him  up  the  ladder  to 
the  loft,  which  was  divided  by  a  partition  into  two 
rude  sleeping-chambers,  and  in  which  he  derived  as 
great  joy  from  being  set  at  large  as  Alexander  would 
have  drawn  from  the  discovery  of  a  new  world  to 
conquer. 

When  the  boy  was  in  his  second  year,  his  world 
underwent  a  vast  enlargement.  This  came  about 
through  his  father's  building  a  house  to  which  the 
original  log  cabin  of  his  birth  became  merely  the 
rear  wing.  The  new  structure,  made  of  logs  covered 
with  rough-sawn  planks,  destined  to  be  annually 
whitewashed,  provided  two  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor,  and  two  bed-chambers  overhead.  One  of  these 
lower  rooms  communicated  by  a  door  with  the  origi 
nal  log  building,  of  which  the  ground  floor  was 
transformed,  by  the  removal  of  the  partition,  into 
one  large  kitchen.  From  the  new  parlor  a  flight  of 


8  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

stairs  led  to  the  room  above,  whence  a  low  door  and 
a  few  descending  steps  gave  entrance  to  the  old  loft, 
so  that  the  young  explorer,  by  dint  of  long  exertion, 
could  reach  the  second  story  unaided.  And  now 
his  days  were  full  of  experiences.  From  his  favorite 
spot  near  the  kitchen  fireplace,  to  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  spare  bedroom  down-stairs,  by  way  of 
the  parlor  (which  was  invariably  called  "the  room  "), 
was  a  trip  sufficient  for  ordinary  days.  But  in  times 
of  extraordinary  energy  and  ambition,  the  crawling 
Dick  would  make  the  grand  tour  up  the  stairs  and 
through  the  four  second-story  apartments,  which 
seemed  countless  in  number,  and  each  a  whole  prov 
ince  in  itself.  So  long  ago  was  yesterday  from 
to-day,  at  that  time  of  his  life,  that  this  immense 
journey  was  full  of  novelty  to  him  at  each  repetition, 
the  adventures  of  one  journey  having  been  forgotten 
before  another  could  be  undertaken.  And  these 
adventures  were  as  numerous  as  befell  Christian  in 
his  Pilgrim's  Progress.  There  were  dark  corners, 
queer-looking  articles  of  furniture  seemingly  with 
life  and  expression,  shadows  of  strange  shapes,  that 
made  the  young  traveller  pause  and  hold  his  breath 
and  half  turn  back,  until  reassured  by  the  sound  of 
his  aunt's  voice  calling  to  the  chickens  in  the  kitchen 
yard,  his  father  or  the  hired  man  sharpening  his 
sickle  or  calling  to  the  plow-horse  in  the  field  be 
yond,  or  —  most  welcome  and  reassuring  of  all 


A   LODGE   IN  THE    WILDERNESS.  9 

—  his    mother    singing   at    her  work  in   the  rooms 
below. 

What  a  great  evening  was  that  when  the  little 
indoor  explorer  found  a  fellow  traveller!  ,Dick  was 
already  in  bed  and  asleep,  having  retired  somewhat 
against  his  will,  as  he  would  have  preferred  to 
remain  up  until  his  father's  return  from  a  horse 
back  journey  on  business  down  the  river.  When  he 
was  awakened  by  his  mother,  on  whose  face  he  saw 
a  smile  that  promised  something  pleasant,  he  blinked 
once  or  twice  in  the  candle-light,  and  looked  eagerly 
around.  He  saw  his  father  standing  near  his  mother, 
and  between  the  two  a  great  black  head  whose  long 
jaws  were  open  in  a  kind  of  merry  grin  of  good-fel 
lowship,  and  from  between  whose  white  teeth  pro 
truded  a  red  tongue  that  evinced  an  impulse  to 
meet  the  wondering  Dickie's  face  half  way.  The 
boy  gazed  for  a  moment,  then  threw  out  his  hands 
towards  the  beaming  face  of  the  newcomer,  and 
screamed  with  gleeful  laughter.  A  moment  later 
the  dog  was  licking  the  youngster's  face,  while  Dick, 
still  laughing,  was  burying  his  fingers  in  the  animal's 
shaggy  black  coat.  Thereafter,  the  boy  Dick  was 
attended  on  all  his  expeditions  by  the  dog  Rover, 
and  never  were  two  more  devoted  comrades.  The 
dog  was  a  mixture  of  Scotch  collie  and  black  spaniel, 
and,  though  in  size  between  those  two  breeds,  looked 
a  huge  animal  from  the  view-point  of  two  years.  If 


IO  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

Dick  required  less  than  the  usual  grown-up  assist 
ance  in  learning  to  walk,  it  was  because  Rover  was 
of  just  the  size  to  serve  as  a  support. 

Dick  now  began  to  make  excursions  outdoors.  Of 
course  he  had  already  spent  much  time  in  the  open 
air,  but  always  under  the  eye  of  some  member  of  the 
household.  His  previous  travels  from  the  house  had, 
by  this  guardianship,  been  robbed  of  the  zest  of 
adventure.  The  first  trips  abroad  that  he  made 
independently  were  clandestine.  Thus,  one  after 
noon  when  the  men  were  in  the  fields,  and  his  aunt 
was  busy  tracing  figures  in  the  fresh  sand  that  had 
been  laid  on  the  parlor  floor,  he  availed  himself  of 
his  mother's  preoccupation  over  her  spinning-wheel 
to  sally  forth  from  the  kitchen  door  with  no  other 
company  than  Rover.  His  mother,  humming  a  tune 
while  she  span,  did  not  at  first  notice  the  silence  in 
that  part  of  the  kitchen  where  Dick's  presence  was 
usually  manifest  to  the  ear.  At  last,  the  bark  of 
Rover,  coming  with  a  note  of  alarm  from  a  distance 
of  several  rods  beyond  the  kitchen  door,  roused  her 
to  a  sense  of  the  boy's  absence.  With  wildly  beat 
ing  heart  she  ran  out,  and  towards  the  sound,  which 
came  from  beyond  the  fruit-trees  and  wild  grape 
vines  that  bounded  the  kitchen  yard.  She  soon  saw 
that  Rover's  call  for  help  had  reason.  Little  Dick 
was  leaning  over  the  edge  of  a  deep  spring,  staring 
with  amusement  at  his  own  image  in  the  clear  shaded 


A    LODGE   IN   THE    WJLDEKNESS.  I  I 

water.  Who  knows  but  the  nymphs  of  the  spring 
would  have  drawn  him  in,  as  Hylas  was  drawn,  had 
not  the  mother  arrived  at  that  moment,  for  the  boy 
was  reaching  out  to  grasp  the  face  in  the  water  when 
she  caught  him  by  the  waist  ? 

Another  time,  it  was  not  the  warning  bark  of 
Rover,  but  the  merest  accident,  that  rescued  the 
boy  from  a  situation  as  perilous.  His  aunt,  going 
into  the  little  barn  near  the  house,  to  look  for  eggs, 
saw  him  sitting  directly  under  one  of  the  plow- 
horses  in  a  stall,  watching  with  interest  the  move 
ments  of  the  animal's  fore-feet,  as  they  regularly 
pawed  the  ground.  On  being  taken  back  to  the 
house,  little  Dick  was  made  to  understand  that  soli 
tary  expeditions  were  forbidden,  and  in  so  sharp  a. 
manner  that  thereafter  he  rarely  violated  orders. 
He  was  carefully  watched  against  the  recurrence 
of  temptation  to  travel.  A  constant  source  of  ter 
ror  to  the  mother,  on  Dick's  account,  was  the  near 
ness  of  the  river,  whose  bed  lay  a  few  rods  to  the 
south,  not  far  from  the  foot  of  a  steep  bank  which 
fell  from  the  piece  of  ground  on  which  the  house 
stood.  This  piece  of  ground  was  surrounded  by  a 
rude  fence,  and  the  boy  spent  many  a  longing 
quarter  of  an  hour  in  looking  through  the  rails  at 
the  river  that  flowed  gently,  with  constant  murmur, 
below.  Between  the  river  and  the  bank  ran  what 
some  called  a  road,  what  may  have  formerly  been  an 


12  THE    ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Indian  trail,  and  what  in  Dick's  time  was  really  but 
a  rough  path  for  horses.  It  led  from  the  farms 
farther  back  up  the  river,  behind  the  azure  moun 
tains  at  the  west,  down  to  the  more  thickly  settled 
country  beyond  the  mountains  at  the  east,  and  afar 
it  joined  the  road  to  Lancaster  and  Philadelphia. 

The  boy's  parents  early  taught  him  his  letters,  for 
the  elder  Wetheral  had  brought  a  few  books  with 
his  meagre  baggage  from  the  old  country,  and  had 
since  acquired,  from  some  of  the  settlers  of  the  best 
class,  a  few  more,  two  by  dying  bequest,  two  by 
gift,  and  four  or  five  by  purchase  and  trade.  With 
the  contents  of  some  of  these,  Dick  first  became 
acquainted  through  his  father's  reading  aloud  on 
Sundays  and  rainy  days,  before  the  kitchen  fire. 
One  of  these  was  Capt.  John  Smith's  account  of 
his  marvellous  achievements.  Strangely  enough, 
or  rather  naturally  enough,  the  parts  of  this  book 
that  most  interested  Dick  were  not  where  Smith 
told  of  his  adventures  with  Indians  in  America,  but 
where  he  related  his'  doings  in  Europe ;  for  Indians 
and  primitive  surroundings  were  familiar  matters  to 
Dick,  whereas  accounts  of  the  old  world  had  for  him 
all  that  charm  which  a  boy  reared  in  the  midst  of 
civilization  finds  in  pictures  of  wilderness  life.  A 
few  of  the  books  were  illustrated  with  prints,  which 
the  boy  studied  by  the  hour.  One  of  these  books 
was  an  odd  volume  of  a  history  of  the  world,  and 


A    LODGE   IN   THE    WILDERNESS.  13 

contained  mainly  that  part  which  related  to  France. 
It  had  crude  engravings  of  two  or  three  palaces,  a 
few  kings,  three  or  four  queens,  a  Catholic  killing 
a  Huguenot  in  front  of  the  Church  of  St.  Germain 
1'Auxerrois,  a  royal  hunt,  and  the  Pont  Neuf,  backed 
by  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame  and  flanked  by  build 
ings  along  the  Seine.  These  rough  pictures,  thanks 
to  some  mysterious  cause  or  other,  exercised  on  little 
Dick  a  potent  fascination. 

"  Who  is  that  ? "  he  asked  his  mother  one  day, 
pointing  to  a  wood-cut  that  purported  to  portray  a 
human  being,  as  he  lay  sprawling  on  the  floor,  his 
favorite  book  opened  out  before  him. 

"That  is  a  king,"  replied  his  mother,  looking  down 
from  her  sewing.  The  mother  and  the  boy  were 
alone  in  the  kitchen. 

"  King  David  ?  " 

"  No  ;  a  king  of  France." 

"King  George?" 

"  No ;  King  George  is  king  of  England,  where 
your  father  came  from,  and  your  grandfather,  and  of 
America,  where  we  are.  France  is  another  country." 

"  Where  does  this  king  live  ? "  pointing  to  the 
wood-cut. 

"  He  is  dead  now.  .He  died  long  ago.  He  lived 
in  a  city  called  Paris,  in  the  country  called  France." 

"  Is  that  a  house  ? "  The  boy  had  turned  to  a 
supposed  picture  of  the  Louvre. 


14  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"Yes,  a  great,  big  house,  a  palace  they  call  it, 
because  it  belongs  to  the  king." 

"  Did  it  belong  to  that  king  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  think  so.  It  is  in  the  city  where  I  told 
you  that  king  lived,  Paris." 

"  Is  this  house  in  that  city,  too  ?  "  He  indicated  a 
building  in  the  picture  that  showed  the  Pont  Neuf. 

"  Yes."  The  mother  laid  down  her  sewing  and 
stooped  beside  the  boy.  "And  so  is  this  house  in 
Paris.  And  this.  And  this,  too.  All  these  houses 
are  in  Paris." 

"  Do  all  these  people  live  there,  the  pretty  ladies 
and  soldiers  ? " 

"They  all  did,  I  suppose." 

"  How  many  houses  are  there  in  Paris  ? " 

"  Oh,  a  great  many  thousand." 

"  More  than  there  are  in  Carlisle  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  !     A  hundred  times  more." 

"Where  is  Paris?" 

"  Oh,  very,  very  far  away." 

"Which  way?" 

"Why,  that  way,  I  think."  She  pointed  towards 
the  east.  "  Your  father  can  tell  you  exactly,  when 
he  comes  in." 

"  How  far  away  is  it  ?     As  far  as  Carlisle  ? " 

"  Much  farther  than  that.  Your  father  can  tell 
you." 

"  As  far  as  Lancaster  ?  " 


A   LODGE  IN   THE    WILDERNESS.  15 

"  Oh,  farther.  Farther  than  Philadelphia.  Away 
across  land  and  water." 

"  As  far  away  as  the  farthest  mountains  yonder,  the 
blue  ones  against  the  sky  ? "  He  had  risen  from  the 
floor,  and  he  pointed  eastward  through  the  open 
kitchen  doorway. 

"Oh,  yes.  If  you  went  clear  across  those  moun 
tains,  you  wouldn't  be  near  Paris  yet." 

"  But  if  I  went  on  and  on,  far  enough,  I'd  get  to 
Paris  at  last,  wouldn't  I  ? " 

"  Yes,  at  last,"  said  the  mother,  smiling,  and  draw 
ing  the  boy  to  her  and  kissing  him,  impelled  by  the 
mere  thought  of  the  separation  his  query  suggested 
to  the  fancy. 

When  she  returned  to  her  sewing,  he  continued 
looking  for  awhile  towards  the  distant  east,  then  re 
sumed  his  study  of  the  pictures.  At  supper  that 
evening  he  made  his  father  laugh  by  asking  which 
way  a  body  should  go,  to  get  to  Paris.  His  mother 
explained  how  his  curiosity  had  been  aroused.  His 
father,  laughing  again,  and  winking  at  the  mother, 
said : 

"Why,  boy,  a  body  would  have  to  start  by  the 
road  that  goes  down  the  river  to  your  grandfather's, 
that's  certain.  And  if  .a  body  travelled  long  enough, 
and  never  lost  his  way,  yes,  he  would  surely  get  to 
Paris  at  the  end." 

"  Would  he  be  very  tired  when  he  got  there  ?  " 


1 6  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"  Very  tired,  indeed,  if  he  didn't  rest  several  times 
on  the  way,"  replied  Wetheral,  Senior,  keeping  up 
the  joke. 

The  next  afternoon  Dick's  mother,  having  baked 
some  cakes  of  a  kind  that  she  knew  her  husband 
liked  hot,  sent  some  of  them  by  the  boy  to  the  two 
men  in  the  field,  which  was  not  far  from  the  house 
but  was  partly  hidden  therefrom  by  the  barn  and 
out-buildings  and  some  fruit-trees.  Dick,  being  now 
four  years  old,  had  often  gone  to  the  fields  with  his 
aunt  or  mother  when  water  or  food  had  been  carried 
out  to  the  men  at  work,  and  as  the  way  did  not  lie 
near  the  river,  there  seemed  no  risk  in  sending  him 
now  alone.  When,  after  due  time,  he  did  not  return 
to  the  house,  the  two  women  supposed  the  men  had 
kept  him  with  them  in  the  field.  But  this  was  not 
the  case.  Mr.  Wetheral  and  the  hired  man,  having 
seen  little  Dick  tripping  back  towards  the  house,  ate 
the  cakes  in  the  shade  of  a  tree  and  returned  with 
sickles  to  their  attack  on  the  wheat,  with  no  thought 
of  the  boy  but  that  he  was  now  safe  home.  When 
they  returned  in  the  evening  for  supper,  their  sur 
prise  in  not  finding  him  there  was  reciprocated  by 
that  of  the  women  at  his  not  coming  back  with  the 
men.  The  dog,  which  had  accompanied  him  to  the 
field  and  from  it,  also  was  missing.  The  men 
immediately  started  in  search. 

The  boy  by  this  time  was  some  distance  away. 


A    LODGE   IN   THE    WILDERNESS.  \J 

f 

He  had  crawled  through  the  fence,  near  the  barn, 
descended  the  declivity  to  the  horse-path  by  the 
river,  turned  his  face  eastward,  and  trudged  reso 
lutely  on  with  Rover  at  his  heels.  It  was  some 
time  before  he  would  admit  to  himself  that  he  was 
becoming  a  little  tired,  and  that  the  stones  and  twigs 
in  the  way  were  bruising  his  bare  feet  perceptibly. 
At  last  he  conceded  himself  a  short  rest,  and,  follow 
ing  Rover's  example,  leaned  over  where  the  bank 
was  low  and  the  river  shallow,  and  drank.  He  was 
soon  up  again  and  going  forward,  forgetful  of  his 
former  fatigue,  and  heedless  that  the  sun  behind  him 
was  nearing  the  horizon.  So  long  a  time  is  a  day 
to  a  child !  In  the  afternoon  the  doings  of  the 
morning  are  of  the  dim  past,  or  are  forgotten,  while 
the  evening  is  yet  far  away,  and  countless  things 
may  be  done  before  the  night  comes.  He  could 
surely  reach  those  farthest  blue  mountains  in  an 
hour  or  so,  and  a  little  walking  thereafter  must  bring 
him  to  this  strange,  wonderful  Paris,  so  entirely 
different  from  his  own  home  and  from  his  grand 
father's  place  down  the  river.  He  would  have  to 
pass  his  grandfather's  place,  by  the  way,  on  his 
walk,  and  it  never  occurred  to  him  how  long  a  time 
it  would  take  him  to  reach  merely  his  grandfather's, 
so  vague  was  his  recollection  of  his  former  visits 
there.  He  could  see  Paris,  the  king  and  the  palaces 
and  the  soldiers  and  the  beautiful  ladies  and  the 


1 8  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

great  bridge,  and  return  home  by  supper-time ;  and 
he  would  have  so  many  things  to  tell  that  his  father 
and  mother  would  make  his  punishment  a  light  one, 
or  might  even  forget  to  punish  him  at  all. 

He  came  to  a  place  where  the  path  divided.  After 
a  moment's  hesitation,  he  took  the  wider  branch, 
which  carried  him  from  the  riverside,  straight  into 
the  unbroken  woods.  Presently  this  path  ended 
abruptly,  so  that  there  was  nothing  before  him  but 
thick  undergrowth.  Rather  than  retrace  his  steps 
to  reach  the  branch  that  he  had  rejected,  which 
must  be  the  one  he  ought  to  have  taken,  he  started 
to  reach  it  directly  through  the  woods,  moving 
towards  where  he  thought  it  should  be.  He  made 
his  way  cautiously,  lest  he  might  tread  on  some 
rattlesnake  or  other  serpent,  which  could  not  be  as 
easily  seen  in  the  dimness  of  the  forest  as  in  the 
path  by  the  river.  That  dimness  increased  apace, 
and  still  he  had  not  found  the  path.  At  last  the 
boy  paused,  perplexed  and  a  little  appalled.  The 
chill  of  evening  came  on.  He  was  very  tired 
now.  He  began  to  think  of  Indians,  bears,  and 
other  savage  things  with  whose  existence  in  the 
neighborhood  he  was  well  acquainted,  and  of  mon 
sters  of  which  he  had  heard  from  his  parents,  such 
as  giants,  lions,  and  other  horrible  things.  Wher 
ever  his  view  lost  itself  in  the  dark  arches  of  the 
trees,  he  imagined  mysterious  and  frightful  creatures 


A    LODGE   IN   THE    WILDERNESS.  19 

were  concealed,  ready  to  appear  at  any  moment. 
He  summoned  heart,  and  trudged  on  again.  Finally 
it  became  so  dark  that  he  feared  to  proceed  lest  he 
might,  at  any  step,  land  in  a  nest  of  snakes.  Rover 
stopped  close  beside  him,  and  looked  in  his  face,  as 
if  for  counsel.  He  put  his  arm  around  the  dog's 
neck,  and  the  two  together  sank  down  on  some 
mossy  turf  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  Rover  curled  up 
with  his  chin  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  and  Dick  lay 
with  his  head  on  the  dog's  shaggy  side.  Dick  would 
have  cried,  had  his  impulse  ruled,  but  he  was  already 
too  proud  to  make  such  an  exhibition  of  weakness  in 
the  presence  of  Rover.  Thus  they  lay  while  night 
fell.  Now  and  then  Rover  raised  his  head  a  little 
and  listened.  The  boy  was  too  much  overcome  by 
his  situation  to  think  of  what  might  ultimately  befall. 
He  could  only  wish,  with  an  intensity  as  keen  as 
could  be  endured,  that  he  was  home  by  his  mother's 
side  in  the  candle-lit  kitchen,  and  nestle  closer  to 
the  dog.  The  insects  of  the  forest  kept  up  an  ear- 
piercing  chorus  of  chirps,  whirrs,  and  calls.  At  last 
reality  melted  imperceptibly  into  dreams,  in  which 
the  boy  was  again  toiling  forward  on  the  road  to 
Paris.  A  terrible  noise  broke  in  upon  his  dream. 
Starting  up,  he  found  it  was  only  the  barking  of 
Rover,  a  bark  of  eagerness  and  joy  rather  than  of 
alarm  or  threat.  A  faint  light  approached  slowly 
through  the  trees.  It  resolved  itself  at  last  into  a 


2O  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

lantern,  and  the  huge  dark  object  beside  it  became 
a  man,  who  called  out,  as  he  came  rapidly  nearer : 

"  Dick,  lad,  are  you  there  with  the  dog  ?  " 

A  minute  later  the  boy  was  in  the  arms  of  his 
father,  who  was  striding  back  towards  the  path, 
while  Rover  ran  yelping  gleefully  before  and  behind 
and  on  every  side. 

How  short  was  the  journey  back  to  the  house, 
compared  with  that  which  Dick  had  made  from  it  in 
the  afternoon !  Almost  before  Dick  had  finished 
his  explanation  to  his  father,  in  somewhat  incoherent 
speeches  and  a  rather  unsteady  voice,  they  beheld 
the  kitchen's  open  door,  in  which  the  mother  stood 
waiting.  She  caught  the  boy  in  her  arms,  covered 
his  face  with  kisses  and  tears,  and  declared  he  should 
never  go  out  of  her  sight  again. 

"  But  I'll  go  some  day,  when  I'm  grown  up,"  said 
little  Dick,  as  he  sat  filling  himself  with  supper  a 
half-hour  later.  "I  didn't  know  the  road  to  Paris 
was  so  long." 

And  he  didn't  know  his  road  to  Paris  should  one 
day  be  taken  with  no  thought  of  its  leading  him 
there,  and  how  very  roundabout  that  road  should 
be. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"OVER    THE    HILLS    AND    FAR    AWAY." 

THE  next  time  Dick  went  far  from  home  was  when 
the  hired  man,  John  Campbell,  took  him  past  his 
grandfather's  island,  and  thence  on  down  the  Susque- 
hanna  and  into  Sherman's  Valley,  whither  Campbell 
was  bent  on  a  courting  expedition.  During  his  visit 
at  the  house  of  Campbell's  friends,  Dick  attended  the 
burning  out  of  a  snake-nest,  an  occasion  that  was  par 
ticipated  in  by  settlers  from  all  the  country  round. 
The  nest  was  in  a  pile  of  rocks  in  some  woods  that  a 
farmer  intended  to  transform  into  a  field  for  cultiva 
tion.  Here  rattlesnakes  and  copperheads  throve  and 
multiplied.  Men  with  axes  and  sickles  cleared  a  circle 
around  the  rock-pile,  at  some  distance  from  it,  and 
then  set  fire  to  the  wood  within.  When  the  flame 
reached  the  snakes,  for  which  there  was  no  escape, 
their  writhing  was  a  novel  sight.  Dick,  who  at  first 
enjoyed  the  spectacle  as  only  a  young  boy  can  enjoy 
scenes  of  wholesale  slaughter,  at  last  came  to  being 
sorry  for  the  victims,  because  they  had  no  fair  fight 
ing  chance.  .  The  loathsome  odor  that  soon  arose 


22  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

drove  him  away,  so  that  he  lost  most  of  the  rum- 
drinking  and  other  jollification  that  followed  the 
snake-burning. 

Snakes,  though  he  could  pity  those  attacked  with 
fire  and  at  a  disadvantage,  were  Dick's  abomination. 
Their  abundance  was  a  chief  reason  why  he  dared 
not  gratify  his  taste  for  roaming  far  from  the  house. 
As  yet,  when  he  came  on  one  suddenly,  he  would  act 
the  woman,  —  that  is  to  say,  he  would  run  in  great 
fright,  or  sometimes  stand  still  in  greater,  till  help 
came  or  the  snake  fled  of  its  own  accord.  It  was 
several  years  before  he  had  the  courage,  on  hearing 
the  shriek  of  some  snake-affrighted  harvesting  woman 
in  the  fields,  to  vie  with  the  men  in  running  to  her 
rescue.  For  a  long  time  he  envied  the  readiness 
with  which  his  father,  if  confronted  by  a  snake  while 
reaping,  would  club  it  to  death  and  then,  sticking  the 
point  of  the  sickle  through  its  head,  hold  it  up  for 
the  other  harvesters  to  see. 

But  there  was  a  long  season  when  the  settlers 
need  have  no  fear  of  rattlers  and  copperheads,  nor 
of  Indians,  either ;  that  was  the  winter.  Dick  was 
allowed  to  walk  abroad  a  little  more  freely  then,  for 
the  very  reason  that  the  cold  was  sure  to  bring  him 
soon  back  again  to  the  vast  fireplace.  There  were 
other  reasons  than  those  of  weather,  why  that  fire 
place  was  a  magnet  to  Dick.  There,  in  the  time  of 
little  work,  when  the  world  outside  was  white  and 


"OVER    THE   HILLS  AND   FAR  AWAY."          2$ 

wind-swept,  Dick's  father  would  sit  and  read  to  the 
household,  or  tell  of  his  fights  and  dangers  on  both 
sides  of  the  ocean.  There,  when  the  cider  went 
round,  was  great  flow  of  joke  and  story  and  song. 
For  Dick's  father,  though  a  man  of  strict  standards 
of  behavior,  and  outwardly  stanch  to  his  adopted 
sect,  which  in  his  neighborhood  stood  for  decency 
and  education,  was  a  man  of  lively  wit  and  of  jocular 
turn  of  mind.  Dick's  mother,  though  of  a  severely 
Presbyterian  family,  and  humbly  religious,  was  of  too 
kindly  and  cheerful  a  nature  to  be  soured  by  piety, 
and  too  rich  with  the  health  of  this  pleasant  earth  to 
be  constantly  thinking  of  another  world.  She  had 
sensibility  and  emotion,  with  the  common  sense  and 
strength  to  control  them.  Her  younger  sister  par 
took  of  the  prevalent  lightness  of  heart.  Campbell, 
the  hired  man,  whose  raw  stolidity  was  tempered  by 
a  certain  taciturn  jocoseness,  contributed  to  the 
household  mirth  by  the  stupid  wonder  with  which 
he  listened  to  the  others,  the  queer  comments  he 
sometimes  made,  and  the  snores  with  which  he  often 
punctuated  the  general  conversation  when  he  slum 
bered  in  his  seat  in  the  fireplace.  Dick's  place  was 
opposite  Campbell's,  and  when  he  sat  there  in  the 
evening  he  could  look  up  and  see  the  stars  through 
the  top  of  the  chimney.  Rover's  spot  was  at  Dick's 
feet,  whence  in  his  dreams  he  would  echo  the  snores 
of  Campbell. 


24  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

The  father  would  tell  of  his  share  in  Prince  Char 
lie's  defeat  at  Culloden,  of  his  own  escape  and  Dr. 
Hugh  Mercer's  to  the  Scottish  port  whence  they 
had  sailed ;  of  that  fatal  march  of  Braddock's  army 
towards  Fort  Duquesne,  and  the  fearful  death  that 
blazed  out  from  the  seemingly  empty  woods  around, 
and  the  conduct  of  the  young  Virginia  colonel, 
Washington,  and  the  night  burial  of  the  mistaken 
English  general  by  torchlight  in  the  dismal  forest ; 
of  the  march  of  resolute  John  Armstrong,  the  Scot 
tish  Covenanter,  of  Carlisle,  to  Kittanning,  in  1756; 
the  destruction  of  the  Indian  town,  the  slaughter  of 
the  Indian  chiefs,  and  the  wounding  of  nearly  all 
Armstrong's  officers ;  how  Wetheral's  friend,  Mercer, 
a  captain  in  the  expedition,  wounded  and  separated 
from  his  men,  wandering  for  weeks  alone  in  the 
forest,  living  on  roots  and  berries,  once  repulsing 
starvation  by  eating  a  rattlesnake,  at  last  came  upon 
waters  that  led  to  the  Potomac,  and  so  reached  Fort 
Cumberland.  Wetheral  told  of  George  Croghan,  the 
Indian  trader,  who  had  figured  in  Braddock's  cam 
paign  ;  and  of  Captain  Jack,  called  also  the  Black 
Hunter,  the  Black  Rifle,  and  the  Wild  Hunter  of 
Juniata,  who  with  his  band  of  hunters  scourged  the 
Indians  in  revenge  for  his  wife  and  children  slain 
and  his  cabin  burnt  while  he  was  away  hunting ; 
and  of  other  border  heroes,  whose  names  have  not 
lived  as  long. 


"OVER    THE  HILLS  AND  FAR  AWAY."          2$ 

In  Wetheral's  earlier  reminiscences,  the  name  that 
oftenest  reached  Dick's  ears,  and  most  agreeably 
impressed  them,  was  that  of  Tom  MacAlister,  a 
former  fellow  Jacobite,  whom  Wetheral  had  thought 
killed  at  Culloden,  but  who  had  turned  up,  to  his 
great  surprise  and  joy,  a  sergeant  in  Braddock's  army 
in  America,  in  1/55.  Surviving  Braddock's  defeat, 
he  had  retreated  with  the  remnant  of  the  British 
army,  and  since  then  Wetheral  had  neither  seen  nor 
heard  of  him.  Of  all  the  characters  that  figured  in 
his  father's  stories,  Dick  made  MacAlister  his  fa 
vorite.  This  was  not  only  on  account  of  the  warlike 
deeds  he  had  done,  or  the  jests  he  had  perpetrated, 
or  the  comical  scrapes  he  had  figured  in,  or  the 
pithy  sayings  that  Wetheral  quoted  from  him,  or 
the  fact  that  he  had  served  as  a  soldier  in  many 
lands,  but  also  for  a  circumstance  connected  with 
Dick's  early  acquired  love  of  song.  When  Dick 
would  express  a  liking  for  some  particular  one  of 
the  many  tunes  his  father  whistled  or  sang,  the 
father  would  say  to  the  mother  : 

"  You  ought  to  hear  Tom  MacAlister  play  that  on 
his  fiddle  or  pipe,  Betty ! " 

And  when  the  boy,  pleased  with  the  words  of 
some  ballad  of  which  his  father  had  remembered 
but  a  part,  would  eagerly  demand  the  rest,  the 
father  would  usually  say : 

"I    don't    know   it,    Dickie,    lad.     If   Tom    Mac- 


26  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

Alister  were  here,  he  could  sing  it  all  for 
you." 

Thus  Dick  came  to  think  of  this  Tom  MacAlister, 
whom  he  had  never  seen,  and  could  with  little  reason 
expect  ever  to  see,  as  the  source,  OF  at  least  the 
repository,  of  all  the  songs  that  ever  were  written, 
and  all  the  tunes  that  ever  were  composed.  Dick 
dearly  loved  the  sound  of  a  fiddle,  and  whenever 
there  was  a  wedding  anywhere  in  the  sparsely  set 
tled  neighborhood  he  would  beg  his  parents  to  take 
him  behind  one  of  them  on  horseback,  or  to  let 
him  go  with  John  Campbell,  that  he  might  enjoy 
the  scraping  of  the  fiddles,  while  the  rustic  guests 
danced,  and  made  merry  with  rum,  hard  cider,  and 
peach  brandy. 

If  he  could  only  hear  Tom  MacAlister  play  the 
pipe  or  fiddle !  If  he  could  but  once  see  that  hero 
in  the  flesh,  touch  the  hands  that  had  performed  so 
many  acts  of  valor,  behold  the  face  that  had  been 
turned  towards  so  many  foes,  hear  the  voice  that  had 
uttered  so  much  wisdom,  sung  so  many  ballads,  and 
could  tell  so  many  true  tales  of  marvellous  experi 
ence  !  To  Dick,  this  much  -  talked  -  of  Tom,  who 
might  no  longer  be  among  the  living,  was  as  a 
hero  of  legend,  a  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  a  Mr. 
Greatheart,  a  Robinson  Crusoe. 

Some  of  the  songs  sung  by  Dick's  father,  and  by 
his  mother,  too,  who  had  picked  up  most  of  her 


"OVER    THE   HILLS  AND  FAR  AWAY.".         2  7 

tunes  from  her  husband,  were  Jacobite  ballads.  One 
snowy  day,  in  Dick's  fifth  winter,  his  father,  mending 
a  bridle  beside  the  fire,  was  heard  by  Dick  to  sing 
in  a  low  voice : 

"  <  There  was  a  wind,  it  cam  to  me, 
Over  the  south,  an'  over  the  sea, 
An'  it  has  blawn  my  corn  and  hay, 
Over  the  hills  an'  far  away.' " 
i 

Dick  looked  up  from  where  he  was  sitting,  by 
the  legs  of  a  skillet  under  which  some  brands 
were  burning. 

"  Is  that  the  tune  it  means  when  it  says  about 
Tom  that  was  a  piper's  son,  all  the  tune  that  he 
could    play  was   '  Over  the  hills   and  far  away  ? ' ' 
he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,  son.  There  are  a  great  many 
songs  of  '  Over  the  hills  and  far  away.'  Tom  Mac- 
Alister  used  to  sing  them  all." 

Dick  studied  a  moment,  then  asked  : 
"Who  was  Tom  MacAlister's  father?" 
"A  Highland  man,  and  I've  heard  Tom  say  he 
was  a  great  player  on  the  bagpipe." 

"Why,  then,"  cried  Dick,  "maybe  he  was  the 
Tom  that  was  a  piper's  son ! " 

"  I    shouldn't    doubt    it    in    the    least,"    replied 
Wetheral,  with  a  wink  and  a  smile  at  his  wife. 
But  Dick's  face,  after  glowing  for  a  moment  with 


28  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

the  exultation  of  so  great  a  literary  discovery,  soon 
fell. 

"No,"  he  said;  "because  Tom  MacAlister  could 
play  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  other  tunes,  and 
Tom  that  was  a  piper's  son  could  play  only  '  Over 
the  hills  and  far  away. ' 

"Ay,"  said  the  father,  "but  then,  you  see,  that 
song  might  have  been  about  Tom  MacAlister  before 
he  had  learned  any  other  tune  than  the  one.  I 
think  he  told  me  once  that  for  a  very  long  time  he 
couldn't  play  any  other." 

Mrs.  Wetheral  smilingly  shook  her  head  in  hope 
less  disapproval  of  the  jocular  deceit  practised  by 
her  husband  on  little  Dick ;  but  the  boy  was  too 
taken  up  with  his  discovery  to  observe  her  move 
ment,  and  so  from  that  day,  to  him,  Tom  MacAlister 
and  Tom  who  was  a  piper's  son  were  one  and  the 
same  Tom. 

But  there  came  a  time  when  neither  singing  nor 
fiddling  was  in  season,  and  when  reminiscences  of 
past  dangers  in  foreign  lands  gave  way  to  fears  of 
imminent  dangers  at  home.  This  was  in  the  spring 
of  1763,  when  Dick  was  five  years  old,  but  possessed 
of  such  strength  and  endurance  as  would  be  marvel 
lous  in  a  boy  of  that  age  nowadays.  Almost  as  soon 
as  the  woods  and  fields  were  green  again,  and  the 
orchards  white  and  pink  with  fruit-blossoms,  came 
news,  from  every  side,  of  Indian  surprises  and 


.      "OVER    THE   HILLS  AND  FAR   AWAY."         29 

alarms.  The  Pennsylvania  tribes,  such  as  the  Dela- 
wares  and  Shawnees,  once  friendly  to  the  English 
settlers,  but  rendered  contemptuous  of  them  by 
Braddock's  defeat,  had  not  ceased  ravages  against 
them,  even  after  Wolfe's  victory  at  Quebec  in  1759 
had  made  the  English  masters  of  the  continent.  It 
seemed  now,  in  1763,  as  if  the  redskins  had  mus 
tered  their  strength  for  a  decisive  series  of  revenge 
ful  blows  against  the  colonists.  In  from  the  west 
and  down  from  the  north  they  came,  unseen,  un 
heard,  penetrating  the  whole  frontier  in. small  parties, 
striking  without  warning,  often  where  least  expected, 
destroying  by  rifle-ball,  knife,  tomahawk,  and  fire. 
No  one  knew  when  a  painted  band,  armed  for 
slaughter,  might  not  suddenly  appear  as  if  by  magic 
from  the  apparently  solitary  wilderness  around.  No 
settler's  family  could  go  to  bed  at  night  with  the 
assurance  that  they  might  not  be  aroused  before 
dawn  by  smoke  and  flames  or  by  the  unearthly 
shrieks  of  savages.  Most  of  the  settlers  in  the 
valleys  south  of  the  Juniata  fled  across  the  moun 
tains  to  Carlisle.  Some  from  the  vicinity  of  the 
Wetherals  took  refuge  in  Fort  Hunter,  which  con 
sisted  of  a  rectangular  stockade,  with  a  log  block 
house  rising  from  the  corner,  and  with  cabins  inside 
to  serve  indifferently  as  barracks  for  the  Provincial 
soldiers  and  as  temporary  lodgings  for  the  people  of 
both  sexes  and  every  age  who  took  refuge  there. 


30  THE   KOAJ)    TO   PAMfS. 

Dick's  grandfather,  deciding  to  remain  in  his  large 
and  strong  house  on  his  island  in  the  Susquehanna, 
invited  the  Wetherals  thither,  actuated  in  part, 
perhaps,  by  the  consideration  that  his  son-in-law 
would  prove  a  notable  addition  to  the  home  garrison. 
Wetheral  accepted,  for  the  sake  of  his  family,  al 
though  the  reconciliation  between  himself  and  his 
stiff-necked  father-in-law  had  never  been  more  than 
merely  formal.  The  Wetherals  had  no  sooner  joined 
the  large  family  in  the  island  mansion  than  there 
came  word,  by  terrified  refugees,  of  killings  and 
burnings  on  the  Juniata,  quite  near,  as  distances 
between  neighbors  then  went,  to  Wetheral' s  house. 
Later  came  similar  tidings  up  from  Sherman's  Val 
ley.  Houses  of  those  who  had  fled  were  burnt,  and, 
as  summer  advanced,  a  great  deal  of  their  grain  was 
destroyed.  When  harvest-time  came,  several  of  the 
men  who  had  fled  returned  in  parties,  well  armed,  to 
get  in  their  crops.  A  party,  strong  in  numbers, 
would  go  from  farm  to  farm,  taking  in  each  harvest 
as  rapidly,  and  bestowing  it  as  securely,  as  possible. 

At  a  certain  time  in  July,  one  such  party  of 
reapers  was  working  on  the  farm  of  William  White, 
who  lived  not  far  from  Dick's  grandfather.  This 
party  had  been  reinforced  by  some  of  the  men  now 
at  the  latter' s  place,  one  of  whom  was  John  Camp 
bell.  The  nearness  of  White's  house,  the  large 
force  of  men  there,  and  the  fact  that  the  Indians 


"OVER    THE   HILLS  AND   FAR   AWAY."          31 

were  thought  to  have  gone  out  of  the  neighborhood, 
had  enabled  Dick  to  get  permission  to  go  with 
Campbell  to  this  reaping,  at  which  there  was  a 
famous  fiddler  from  Tuscarora,  of  whom  the  boy  had 
often  heard.  On  Saturday  evening,  after  the  work 
was  done,  Dick  revelled  to  his  heart's  content  in  the 
scraping  of  this  frontier  virtuoso.  The  reapers 
made  merry  so  late  that  night,  that  they  were  quite 
willing  to  observe  the  ensuing  Sabbath  by  resting 
most  vigorously. 

All  the  warm  sunny  morning,  they  lay  on  the 
floor  of  the  principal  room.  Dick  alone  showed  any 
disposition  towards  activity.  While  the  men  slum 
bered,  or  turned  heavily  over  on  the  floor,  or  stared 
drowsily  at  the  wooden  ceiling,  or  stretched  and 
yawned,  Dick  amused  himself  by  climbing  up  the 
ladder  to  the  loft  overhead. 

He  had  reached  the  round  next  to  the  top  one,  and 
was  about  to  thrust  his  head  up  through  the  opening 
into  the  loft,  when  he  heard  a  slight  creak  from  the 
door  of  the  room  below.  He  looked  in  time  to  see 
it  swing  open,  and  three  painted,  naked,  feather- 
crowned  bodies  appear  in  the  doorway,  each  one 
behind  a  rifle  whose  muzzle  was  instantly  turned 
towards  some  sleeper  on  the  floor.  Terrified  into 
dumbness,  Dick's  gaze  involuntarily  turned  towards 
the  window  opposite  the  door.  The  oiled  paper  that 
had  served  instead  of  glass  had  been  swiftly  and 


32  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

silently  cut  away  with  a  knife,  and  three  savage 
heads  appeared  above  the  window  base,  each  shining 
eye  directed  along  a  different  rifle-barrel  towards 
one  of  the  prostrate  reapers. 

Dick  opened  his  mouth  to  cry  out,  but  he  could 
emit  no  sound.  Before  he  could  form  a  thought, 
the  six  rifles  blazed  forth  in  concert,  and  an  instant 
later  the  room  below  was  filled  with  smoke,  shouts 
of  pain,  and  furious  curses.  A  terrible  chorus  of 
piercing  war-screams  from  outside  the  house  showed 
that  the  redskins  who  had  crept  up  so  silently  were 
in  large  number.  Dick  tarried  no  longer,  but  sprang 
up  into  the  loft  and  ran  wildly  to  a  little  window  at 
the  end  of  it.  He  supposed  that  he  had  been  seen 
and  would  be  followed  up  the  ladder. 

He  thrust  out  his  head  and  looked  down.  This 
little  window  was  over  the  one  through  which  three 
of  the  savages  had  fired  into  the  room  down-stairs. 
He  saw  three  other  Indians  aiming  in  through  the 
lower  window,  while  the  first  three  were  reloading 
their  rifles.  Others  were  shrieking  their  war-whoop 
and  brandishing  the  knives  and  tomahawks  with 
which  they  were  to  complete  the  work  begun  with 
the  rifles.  Up  from  the  ladder  hatchway,  amidst 
the  noise  of  heavy  bodies  falling  and  of  the  men 
rushing  to  their  arms  and  yelling  and  swearing, 
came  the  sound  of  another  volley,  fired  probably 
through  the  doorway.  Dick  drew  his  head  in  and 


"  OVER    THE  HILLS  AND   FAR   AWAY."         33 

waited  with  wildly  beating  heart,  wondering  what  to 
do,  and  fearing  to  look  back  towards  the  hatchway 
lest  he  might  see  savages  rushing  up  after  him,  with 
gleaming  knives  and  upraised  tomahawks.  But  none 
came.  The  noise  from  the  room  below  indicated 
that  knives,  tomahawks,  and  guns  had  business 
enough  down  there. 

After  what  seemed  a  space  of  several  minutes, 
Dick  cautiously  looked  again  out  of  the  window. 
He  saw  now  but  one  savage,  and  that  one  soon 
disappeared  through  the  lower  window,  into  the 
room  where  his  fellows  were  completing  the  slaugh 
ter  of  the  unprepared  reapers.  The  hideous  shrieks 
of  triumph  that  came  up  through  the  hatchway  told 
clearly  enough  that  victory  was  with  the  attacking 
party,  and  that  the  seal  ping-knife  was  already  in  use. 

Suddenly  Dick's  blood  turned  cold.  A  sound  of 
sharp,  eager  grunting,  detached  from  the  general 
hubbub  below,  arose  immediately  beneath  the  hatch 
way.  A  red  hand  appeared  through  the  opening, 
grasping  the  loft  floor  against  which  the  ladder 
rested. 

The  little  window  at  which  Dick  stood  was 
neither  glazed  nor  papered.  He  went  out  through 
it,  feet  first ;  hung  for  a  moment  by  his  fingers  to 
the  ledge,  then  dropped  to  the  ground  below,  fell 
on  his  side,  scrambled  to  his  feet,  turned  his  back 
to  the  house  of  shrieking  slaughter,  and  ran  across 


34  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS.' 

the  field  towards  the  nearest  woods.  Though  the 
direction  in  which  he  went  took  him  farther  from 
his  grandfather's,  he  nevertheless  did  not  stop  or 
turn,  on  reaching  the  woods,  but  ran  straight  on, 
as  fast  as  the  irregularities  of  the  ground  would  let 
him,  and  for  once  with  reckless  disregard  of  possible 
snakes,  his  only  thought  being  to  put  the  greatest 
distance  between  himself  and  the  yelling  murderers 
behind  him. 

After  a  long  run,  he  stopped  for  lack  of  breath, 
and  began  to  consider  his  situation,  as  well  as  the 
rapid  beating  of  his  heart  would  allow  him  to  do. 
He  regretted  that  he  had  not  taken  Rover  with  him 
to  White's,  —  if  he  had  done  so,  he  might  now  have 
at  least  the  comfort  of  the  dog's  society.  At  last 
he  decided  to  make  for  his  grandfather's,  by  a  detour 
which  would  take  him  far  from  the  house  where  the 
savages  were  now  holding  their  carnival  of  blood. 
This  detour  required  several  hours,  as  his  bare  feet 
suffered  from  contact  with  stones,  thorns  roots,  and 
the  rough  bark  of  fallen  branches.  Finally,  on 
hearing  a  sound  as  of  a  horse's  foot  crunching  into 
stony  soil,  a  little  to  the  left  and  ahead,  he  stopped 
and  stood  still.  The  sound  continued.  Could  it  be 
that  he  was  near  a  bridle-path  and  that  this  sound 
indicated  some  solitary  traveller  ?  As  yet  he  could 
see  nothing  moving  through  the  thick  forest.  While 
he  waited,  a  slighter  sound  close  at  hand,  that  of  an 


"OVER    THE   HILLS  AND   FAR   AWAY."          35 

instant's  movement  among  bushes,  suddenly  drew 
his  glance.  From  a  mass  of  laurel  near  the  ground, 
gleamed  a  pair  of  eyes  directly  at  him,  on  a  level 
with  his  own.  He  started  back,  thinking  they  might 
belong  to  a  wildcat  or  some  other  crouching  animal. 

Instantly  the  owner  of  the  eyes  swiftly  rose,  and 
stood  erect  from  the  bush,  —  a  naked  Shawnee, 
daubed  yellow,  and  carrying  knife  and  tomahawk. 
Dick  turned  and  ran,  casting  back  one  look,  in  which 
he  saw  the  Indian  hurl  the  tomahawk  after  him.. 
The  boy  fell  forward  on  his  face  just  in  time  to  feel 
the  wind  of  the  hatchet  instead  of  the  hatchet  itself, 
which  cleft  the  air  directly  over  his  head  and  lodged 
in  a  tree-trunk  in  front  of  him.  The  Indian,  aban 
doning  his  intention  of  remaining  in  the  bush,  for 
which  he  had  doubtless  had  his  own  reason,  now 
glided  after  Dick,  who  had  not  half  risen  when  he 
felt  the  Shawnee' s  fingers  grasp  his  long  hair,  and 
saw  the  knife  describe  a  rapid  circle  in  the  air  in 
preparation  for  its  descent  upon  his  scalp.  The 
boy  cast  one  despairing  look  up  towards  the  Indian's 
implacable  face. 

The  stillness  of  the  woods  was  suddenly  broken 
by  a  loud  detonation.  Something  dug  into  the 
Indian's  breast,  a  horrible  grimace  distorted  his  face, 
a  fearful  cry  came  from  his  throat,  his  knife-blow 
went  wide,  and  he  leaped  clear  over  Dick,  retaining 
some  of  the  boy's  hair  in  his  clutch  as  he  went.  The 


36  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS, 

next  moment  he  lay  sprawling,  face  downward,  some 
feet  away.  He  stiffened  convulsively,  and  never 
moved  again. 

Dick  looked  towards  the  direction  whence  the 
shot  had  come.  In  a  little  opening  among  the  trees 
he  saw  a  horse  standing ;  on  its  back  a  tall,  gaunt, 
brown-faced  stranger,  from  whose  rifle-muzzle  a  little 
smoke  was  still  curling.  The  newcomer  was  appar 
ently  about  forty  years  old  ;  wore  an  old  cocked  hat, 
a  time-worn  blue  coat,  whose  long  skirts  spread  out 
over  the  horse's  rump,  a  red  waistcoat,  patched  green 
breeches,  and  great  jack-boots  that  had  known  much 
service.  His  long  brown  hair  was  tied  in  a  queue, 
and,  besides  his  rifle,  he  carried  before  him  an  im 
mense  pistol.  A  long,  projecting  chin  gave  a  gro 
tesque  turn  to  his  features,  whose  grimness  was 
otherwise  modified  by  amiable  gray  eyes. 

"  Sure,  sonny,"  he  called  out  to  the  astonished 
and  staring  Dick,  "  it's  the  part  of  Providence  I 
played  towards  ye  that  time ;  in  return  for  whilk 
favor,  tell  me  now  the  way  to  one  Alexander  Weth- 
eral's  house,  if  ye  ken  it." 

Not  sufficiently  learned  in  dialects  to  note  the 
stranger's  mixture  of  Scotch  and  Irish  with  the 
King's  English,  Dick  eagerly  proffered  his  services 
and  said  that  Alexander  Wetheral  was  his  father. 

"  What,  lad !  Gie's  your  hand,  then,  and  it's  in 
front  of  me  ye  shall  ride  hame  this  day.  It's  a  glad 


THE    NEWCOMER    WAS    APPARENTLY    ABOUT    FORTY 
YEARS    OLD." 


"OVER    THE   HILLS  AND  FAR   AWAY."          37 

man  your  father  'ull  be,  when  he  sees  ye  bringing  in 
Tom  MacAlister  as  a  recruit,  and  no  such  raw  one, 
neither  !  " 

Dick  almost  fell  off  the  horse,  to  whose  shoulders 
the  stranger  had  lifted  him. 

Such  was  his  first  meeting  with  Tom  that  was  a 
piper's  son. 

The  two  reached  Dick's  grandfather's  without 
molestation,  and  the  newcomer  was  duly  welcomed. 
Lack  of  occupation  in  Europe,  and  the  desire  to  be 
always  enlarging  his  experiences,  had  brought  him 
again  to  the  New  World,  and  in  search  of  his  early 
friend. 

He  had  immediate  opportunity  to  employ  his  cour 
age  and  prowess.  A  few  days  after  Dick's  adven 
ture,  there  came  to  his  grandfather's  house  a  settler 
named  Dodds,  with  an  account  of  how  the  same 
Indians  who  had  shot  the  reapers  at  White's  had 
thereupon  gone  to  Robert  Campbell's  on  the  Tus- 
carora  Creek,  found  Dodds  and  other  reapers  there 
resting  themselves,  and  first  made  their  presence 
known  by  a  sudden  deadly  volley  of  rifle-balls.  In 
the  smoke  and  confusion,  Dodds  had  made,  unseen, 
for  the  chimney,  which  he  had  ascended  by  great 
muscular  exertion  while  the  massacre  was  proceeding 
in  the  room  below.  He  had  dropped  from  the  roof 
and  fled  to  Sherman's  Valley,  where  he  had  given 
the  alarm,  which  he  was  now  engaged  in  spreading. 


38  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Dick's  father  and  grandfather,  with  all  the  aroused 
settlers  who  could  be  summoned,  speedily  organized 
a  party  to  make  war  on  the  savage  invaders.  In  the 
expedition  this  force  made,  MacAlister  was  in  his  ele 
ment.  He  was  one  of  the  detachment  of  twelve  who 
overtook  twenty-five  Indians  at  Nicholson's  house 
and  killed  several,  at  the  cost  of  five  of  the  white 
men.  The  chasing  of  Indians,  and  the  fleeing  from 
them,  continued  all  summer.  William  Anderson  was 
killed  at  his  own  house,  depredations  were  com 
mitted  at  Collins's,  Graham's  house  was  burnt,  and 
in  September  five  white  men  were  killed  in  a  battle 
at  Buffalo  Creek.  Finally  a  hundred  volunteers, 
including  Wetheral  and  MacAlister,  went  up  the 
Susquehanna  to  Muncy,  encountered  two  companies 
of  Indians  that  were  coming  down  the  river,  killed 
their  chief,  Snake,  and  drove  the  others  back  from 
the  frontier.  In  the  fall,  the  Wetherals,  with  their 
guest,  went  back  to  their  own  house,  but  not  at  the 
first  waning  of  summer.  Too  many  settlers,  de 
ceived  by  the  earliest  signs  of  winter,  had  in  times 
past  returned  to  their  houses,  thinking  themselves 
safe  from  further  Indian  ravage ;  but,  with  the  brief 
later  season  of  warm  weather,  the  Indians  had  reap 
peared  for  final  strokes,  and  hence  that  fatal  season 
received  the  name  of  Indian  summer. 

Tom  MacAlister,  impelled  by  his  friendship  for 
Wetheral,  and  by  the  charm  that  he  found  in  the 


"OVER    THE  HILLS  AND  FAR   AWAY."          39 

still  wilderness,  took  the  place  formerly  occupied 
in  the  household  by  John  Campbell,  who  had  been 
killed  at  White's.  If  not  in  the  field,  at  least  at  the 
fireside  and  in  the  dooryard,  he  was  a  vast  improve 
ment  upon  his  heavy-witted  predecessor.  With  a 
fiddle,  bought  from  a  settler,  Tom  soon  verified  all 
the  assertions  Wetheral  had  made  about  his  musical 
ability. 

As  1763  was  the  last  year  of  general  Indian  out 
breaks  in  the  neighborhood,  the  arts  of  peace  there 
after  had  full  opportunity  to  thrive  in  the  Wetheral 
household.  From  childhood  to  pronounced  boyhood, 
and  then  to  sturdy  youth,  Dick  Wetheral  grew,  to 
the  constant  accompaniment  of  Tom  MacAlister's 
fiddle.  Dick  became,  in  time,  a  fairly  capable  tiller 
of  the  soil,  an  excellent  horseman,  a  good  hunter,  a 
comparatively  lucky  fisherman.  He  was  a  straight 
shot  at  a  distant  wild  turkey,  a  quick  one  at  a  run 
ning  deer,  and  a  cool  one  at  a  threatening  bear.  He 
was  a  great  reader,  not  for  improvement,  but  for 
amusement  and  because  books  gave  him  other  worlds 
to  contemplate.  When  he  had  read  and  re-read  all  the 
volumes  of  his  father's  little  stock,  he  took  means  to 
learn  who  else  owned  books  in  the  neighborhood. 
The  owners  were  few  and  far  between,  and  fewer 
still  were  the  books  possessed  by  any  one  of  them. 
But  what  books  there  were,  Dick  hunted  down, 
taking  many  a  long  ride  in  the  quest,  buying  a 


40  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

volume  when  he  could,  or  trading  for  it,  or  borrow 
ing  it. 

Thus  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Fielding's 
novels,  and  one  or  two  of  Smollett's,  and  of  Shake 
speare's  plays,  and  from  all  these  he  acquired  stand 
ards  of  gentlemanly  conduct  and  manners,  and  ideals 
of  feminine  beauty  and  charm,  which  standards  and 
ideals  kept  him  alike  from  close  association  with  the 
raw  youths  of  the  neighborhood,  and  from  succumb 
ing  to  the  primitive  attractions  of  any  of  the  farmers' 
daughters.  Slowly  and  imperceptibly,  by  his  read 
ing  and  his  thoughts,  he  was,  if  not  fitting  himself 
for  a  vastly  different  world  from  the  one  about  him, 
at  least  unfitting  himself  for  the  latter.  One  cause 
of  his  strong  attachment  to  Tom  MacAlister,  after 
he  had  come  to  regard  that  worthy  in  a  more  accu 
rate  light,  and  no  longer  idealized  him  as  the  half 
mythical  hero  of  his  childhood,  was  that  Tom 
represented  tjie  great  world  of  cities  and  courts. 

Tom  was  the  son  of  a  Scotch  father  and  an  Irish 
mother,  and  one  of  the  two  had  a  sufficient  streak  of 
English  blood  to  account  for  Tom's  length  of  chin. 
To  his  mixed  ancestry  was  due  his  unique  inter 
mingling  of  brogues  and  accents.  It  was  a  question 
which  was  the  greater,  the  severity  of  his  visage  or 
the  drollery  of  his  disposition.  It  was  looked  upon 
as  a  caprice  of  nature  that  a  man  of  so  sanctimonious 
an  aspect  should  on  occasion  swear  so  hard,  and  that 


"OVER    THE   HILLS  AND   FAR   AWAY."         41 

he  who  could  drink  so  enormously  of  liquor  should 
retain  such  meagreness  of  body.  He  advocated  strict 
morality,  though  he  admitted  having  himself  been  a 
sad  lapser  from  virtue.  He  testified  frankly  to  hav 
ing  broken  "all  the  ten  commandments  and  half  a 
dozen  more."  He  had  been  a  great  patron  of  the 
playhouses,  could  perform  conjuring  tricks,  and  was 
able  to  oppose  a  card-cheat  with  the  latter' s  own 
weapons.  As  for  religion,  wherever  he  was,  he  took 
that,  as  he  took  the  staple  drink,  "  of  the  country,"  a 
practice  which,  he  said,  gave  him  in  turn  the  benefit 
of  all  faiths,  and  saved  him  from  a  deal  of  inconven 
ience  where  piety  ran  strong.  He  had  fought  in 
1743  with  George  II.  against  the  French  at  Det- 
tingen  ;  "been  out"  with  the  Young  Chevalier  in 
1745  ;  followed  Braddock  to  defeat  in  1755  ;  served 
under  Frederick  of  Prussia,  at  Prague,  Rossbach, 
and  elsewhere ;  and  had  been  under  Prince  Ferdi 
nand,  at  Minden,  in  1759.  The  disbandment  of  his 
regiment  at  the  end  of  the  Seven  Years'  War  had 
put  his  services  out  of  demand. 

In  winter  evenings,  before  the  flaming  logs  in  the 
great  chimney-place,  when  Tom  was  not  recounting 
adventures  he  had  experienced,  or  some  he  had 
imagined,  or  playing  the  fiddle,  or  taking  huge  gulps 
of  hard  cider  or  hot  "kill-devil,"  he  was  singing 
songs  ;  and  of  these  the  favorite  in  his  list  was  one 
or  other  of  the  versions  of  "  Over  the  hills  and  far 


42  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

away."  First,  there  was  the  song  with  which  Dick 
had  been  familiar  since  his  infancy,  and  which  for  a 
long  time  he  thought  alluded  to  MacAlister  himself, 
beginning  thus  : 

"  Tom  he  was  a  piper's  son, 
He  learnt  to  play  when  he  was  young, 
And  all  the  tune  that  he  could  play 
Was  '  Over  the  hills  and  far  away,' 
Over  the  hills  and  a  great  way  off, 
And  the  wind  will  blow  my  top-knot  off." 

Then  there  was  the  one  which,  when  it  was  sung 
by  Tom,  Dick  took  to  be  a  bit  of  veritable  auto 
biography  : 

"  When  I  was  young  and  had  no  sense, 
I  bought  a  fiddle  for  eighteen  pence, 
And  the  only  tune  that  it  would  play 
Was  '  Over  the  hills  and  far  away.'  " 

But  what  was  the  song  itself  to  which  these  verses 
alluded  ?  Tom  knew  and  sang  several,  but  was 
cloudy  as  to  which  was  the  particular  one.  That 
mattered  little,  however,  as  all  went  to  the  same 
tune.  There  was  one  artfully  contrived  to  lure 
recruits  to  the  king's  service,  thus : 

"  Hark  how  the  drums  beat  up  again 
For  all  true  soldiers,  gentlemen ; 
Then  let  us  'list  and  march  away 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away." 


"OVER    THE   HILLS  AND   FAR   AWAY."         43 

Then  there  was  one  that  Tom  had  heard  at  the  play, 
sung  by  a  gay  captain  and  a  dare-devil  recruiting 
sergeant,  and  of  which  the  latter  half  would  fill 
Dick's  head  with  longings  and  visions : 

"  Our  'prentice  Tom  may  now  refuse 
To  wipe  his  scoundrel  master's  shoes, 
For  now  he's  free  to  sing  and  play, 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

"  We  shall  lead  more  happy  lives 
By  getting  rid  of  brats  and  wives 
That  scold  and  brawl  both  night  and  day, 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

"  Over  the  hills,  and  over  the  main, 
To  Flanders,  Portugal,  or  Spain ; 
The  king  commands,  and  we'll  obey, 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

"  Courage,  boys,  it  is  one  to  ten, 
But  we  return  all  gentlemen ; 
While  conq'ring  colors  we  display, 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away." 

And  there  was  a  duet,  which  Tom  had  heard  at  the 
opera  in  London,  and  which  he  sang,  imitating  the 
respective  voices  of  the  highwayman  and  the  adoring 
Polly. 

The  tune  took  a  lasting  possession  of  Dick,  and 
the  sweet-sounding  recurrent  line  exercised  upon  him 
a  witchery  that  increased  as  he  grew.  He  chose  for 


44  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

his  bedroom  the  rear  apartment  of  the  loft  over  the 
kitchen,  because  its  window  looked  towards  the  east, 
and  his  first  glance  at  dawn,  his  latest  at  night,  was 
towards  the  farthest  hill-tops.  There  were  hills  to 
the  west,  too,  a  great  many  more  of  them  ;  mountain 
ranges,  from  the  straight  ridge  of  the  Tuscaroras,  to 
the  farthest  Alleghanies ;  but  Dick's  heart  looked 
not  in  that  direction,  where  he  knew  there  was  but 
savage  wilderness  all  the  thousands  of  miles  to  the 
Pacific  Ocean.  Towards  the  east,  where  the  live 
world  was,  he  longed  to  wing.  Strangely  enough, 
so  had  circumstance  directed,  he  never,  till  he  was 
seventeen  years  old,  travelled  as  far  as  to  the  far 
thest  mountains  in  sight  southward  or  eastward. 
His  father  had  turned  his  back  on  the  Old  World, 
thrown  his  interests  heart  and  soul  with  those  of  the 
new  land,  built  up  a  well-provided  home  on  the  outer 
verge  of  civilization,  joined  irrevocably  the  advance 
guard  of  the  westward  march  of  men.  What  little 
business  he  had  with  towns  could  be  done  through 
the  pack-horse  men  and  wagoners.  So  Dick  had 
only  his  imagination  on  which  to  call  for  an  idea 
of  the  level  country  towards  the  sea.  What  was 
behind  the  hills  ?  How  he  envied  the  birds  he 
saw  flying  towards  that  distant  azure  band  that 
backed  the  green  hills  nearer !  Should  it  ever  be 
his  lot  to  follow  them  ? 

At  seventeen  Dick  was  a  strong,  lithe  youth,  five 


"OVER    THE  HILLS  AND   FAR   AWAY."         45 

feet  eleven  inches  tall,  and  destined  to  grow  no 
taller ;  with  a  thoughtful,  somewhat  eager  face, 
whose  sharpness  of  feature  and  alertness  of  expres 
sion  had  some  suggestion  of  the  fox,  but  with  no 
indication  of  that  animal's  vices  ;  brown  hair  that 
fell  back  to  its  queue  from  a  wide  and  open  brow ; 
and  blue  eyes  both  steady  and  keen.  Such  was 
his  appearance  one  sunny  spring  morning  when  he 
started  from  the  house  to  join  the  men  in  the  field, 
from  which  the  sound  of  his  father's  "whoa,"  and 
of  Tom  MacAlister's  chirping  to  the  plow-horses, 
could  be  heard  through  the  blossoming  fruit-trees  in 
which  the  birds  were  twittering.  He  returned  his 
mother's  smile  through  the  open  kitchen  window,  at 
which  she  stood  kneading  the  dough  for  the  week's 
baking.  As  he  went  towards  the  lane  which  ran  up 
in  front  of  the  house  from  the  so-called  road,  he 
could  hear  her  voice  while  she  half  unconsciously 
sang  at  her  work : 

" '  Over  the  hills,  and  over  the  main, 
To  Flanders,  Portugal,  or  Spain ; 
The  king  commands,  and  we'll  obey, 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away.' " 

He  took  up  the  tune  and  hummed  it,  and,  though 
the  cheerful  solitude  around  him  seemed  ineffably 
sweet,  he  sighed  as  he  followed  with  his  eyes  the 
course  of  a  tiny  white  cloud  towards  the  high  blue 


46  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

eastern  horizon.  It  was  Saturday,  next  to  the  last 
day  of  April,  1775. 

As  he  leaped  over  the  rail  fence,  from  the  house- 
yard  to  the  lane,  he  saw  a  horse  turn  into  the  latter 
from  the  road.  He  recognized  the  rider,  a  good- 
looking  young  man,  one  of  the  few  in  the  neighbor 
hood  with  whom  Dick  was  intimate. 

"Good  morning,  M'Cleland,"  said  Dick,  heartily. 
"  Where  from  ?  " 

"  From  Hunter's  Mill,  and  I  can  stay  only  a 
moment  to  give  you  the  news,  if  you  haven't  heard 
it."  He  stopped  his  horse. 

"What  news?"  queried  Dick,  wondering  whether 
it  might  be  of  another  Indian  war,  like  that  of  Lord 
Dunmore's  in  Western  Virginia  the  preceding  year ; 
or  whether  there  had  been  a  renewal  of  the  old  feud 
between  the  Pennsylvanians  and  the  Connecticut  set 
tlers  up  in  the  Wyoming  Valley ;  or  whether  the 
English  government  had  repealed  or  reinforced  the 
Boston  Port  Bill.  These  were  matters  in  which 
Dick  and  M'Cleland  had  both  taken  interest,  — 
especially  the  last  one,  for  nowhere  had  the  differ 
ence  between  King  and  colonies,  which  quarrel  had 
been  growing  ever  since  the  passage  of  the  Stamp 
Act  ten  years  before,  been  more  thoroughly  discussed 
than  in  the  Wetheral  household,  and  nowhere  was 
the  feeling  for  resistance  to  the  King  more  ardent. 

"Great    news,"    said    M'Cleland,    controlling   his 


"OVER    THE  HILLS  AND   FAR   AWAY."         47 

voice  with  difficulty,  while  his  eyes  sparkled  with 
excitement.  "  On  the  nineteenth  the  King's  troops 
marched  out  from  Boston  to  take  some  ammunition 
the  people  had  stored  at  Concord.  At  Lexington 
they  met  a  company  of  minutemen,  and  there  were 
shots  and  bloodshed.  The  whole  country  around 
rose  and  killed  God  knows  how  many  of  the  regu 
lars  on  their  way  back  to  Boston.  When  the  mes 
sengers  left  Cambridge,  there  was  an  army  of 
Massachusetts  men  besieging  the  King's  soldiers 
in  Boston.  There's  no  doubt  about  it.  At  Hunter's 
Mill  I  saw  the  man  who  met  at  Paxton  the  rider 
that  talked  in  Philadelphia  with  the  messenger  from 
Cambridge,  who  had  affidavits  from  Massachusetts 
citizens.  Tell  your  people.  I'm  off  up  the  river. 
Get  up !  " 

Dick  never  went  any  farther  towards  the  field. 
He  called  in  his  father  and  Tom,  and  there  was 
a  long  discussion  of  the  situation.  Wetheral  said 
that  Pennsylvania  would  be  organizing  troops,  in 
due  time,  to  back  up  Massachusetts,  and  that  the 
only  course  was  to  wait  and  join  such  a  force.  But 
Dick  would  not  hear  of  waiting.  "  Now  is  the  time 
men  are  needed  ! "  was  his  answer  to  every  counsel. 
First  make  for  the  scene  of  war ;  it  would  be  time 
to  join  the  Pennsylvania  forces  when  these  should 
arrive  there.  The  father  gave  in,  at  last,  and  the 
mother  had  nothing  to  oppose  to  the  inevitable  but 


48  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

the  protest  of  silent  tears.  To  her,  the  whole  matter 
was  as  lightning  from  a  clear  sky.  It  was  settled  ; 
the  boy  should  go,  the  father  should  stay.  The 
mother  had  a  day  in  which  to  get  Dick's  things 
ready.  As  for  Tom  MacAlister,  who  was  subject 
to  no  man's  will  but  his  own,  his  first  hearing  of  the 
news  had  set  him  preparing  for  departure.  As  he 
tied  his  own  horse  to  the  fence  rail  the  next  day,  to 
wait  for  Dick,  he  bethought  him  how  of  old  his  motto 
had  been  always  "  up  and  away  again,"  and  he  mar 
velled  that  he  had  remained  twelve  years  contented 
in  one  place. 

It  was  not  yet  Sunday  noon  when  Dick,  who  it 
was  decided  should  share  with  Tom  the  use  of  the 
latter' s  horse  on  the  journey  to  Cambridge,  accord 
ing  to  the  custom  known  as  "riding  and  tying," 
mounted  for  the  first  stage.  He  wore  a  cocked  hat, 
a  blue  cloth  coat  altered  from  one  his  father  had 
brought  from  England,  a  linsey  shirt,  an  old  fig 
ured  waistcoat,  gray  breeches,  worsted  stockings, 
home-made  shoes,  and  buckskin  leggings ;  carried 
a  rifle,  a  blanket,  and  a  change  of  shirts ;  and  had 
two  gold  pieces,  long  saved  by  his  mother  against 
the  time  of  his  setting  up  for  himself.  Tom  Mac 
Alister  was  dressed  and  armed  exactly  as  at  Dick's 
first  meeting  with  him,  his  clothes  having  been  tem 
porarily  supplanted  by  homespun  during  his  years 
of  farm  service. 


"OVER    THE   HILLS  AND   FAR  AWAY."         49 

There  was  a  lump  in  Dick's  throat  when  he  put 
his  arms  around  his  mother's  neck,  and  felt  against 
his  cheek  the  tear  she  had  striven  to  hold  back. 
The  last  embrace  taken,  he  gave  his  horse  the  word 
rather  huskily,  and  followed  Tom  MacAlister,  who 
was  already  striding  down  the  lane.  Turning  into 
the  road,  Dick  looked  back,  and  saw  his  father,  his 
mother,  his  aunt,  and  Rover,  the  last-named  now 
feeble  and  far  beyond  the  age  ordinarily  attained  by 
dogkind,  standing  together  by  the  fence.  His  father 
waved  an  awkward  military  salute,  his  mother  forced 
a  smile  into  her  face,  and  the  old  dog  made  two  or 
three  steps  to  follow,  as  in  the  past,  then  stopped 
and  looked  somewhat  surprised  and  hurt  that  Dick 
did  not  call  him.  One  swift  glance  from  the  puzzled 
dog  to  his  mother's  wistful  face,  and  Dick's  home  in 
the  Pennsylvania  valley  passed  from  his  sight  for 
ever.  He  cleared  his  throat,  swallowed  down  the 
lump  in  it,  and  turned  his  eyes  forward  towards 
the  east.  Tom  MacAlister's  grim  face  wore  a  look 
of  quiet  elation,  and  he  could  be  heard  softly  whis 
tling,  as  he  trudged  on,  the  tune  of  "  Over  the  hills 
and  far  away." 


CHAPTER    III. 

AT    THE    SIGN    OF    THE    GEORGE. 

As  they  proceeded,  Dick  laughingly  alluded  to 
the  time  when,  at  the  age  of  four,  he  had  started 
out  on  this  same  road,  thinking  it  would  take  him  to 
Paris  in  a  few  hours. 

"  And  wha  kens,"  said  MacAlister,  in  all  serious 
ness,  "  but  this  same  road  may  yet  lead  ye  there,  or 
to  Chiney,  for  that  matter  ?  Him  that  sets  out  on  a 
journey  knowing  where  'twill  land  him  is  a  wiser 
man  nor  you  and  me,  my  son !  " 

Presently  MacAlister  fell  behind,  and  was  soon 
lost  to  sight  as  Dick  rode  on.  By  and  by  Dick  dis 
mounted,  tied  the  horse  to  a  tree  by  the  path,  and 
went  on  afoot.  When  he  had  walked  about  an 
hour,  he  was  overtaken  and  passed  by  MacAlister, 
on  the  horse,  which  Tom,  on  coming  up  to  it,  had 
untied  and  mounted.  Walking  on  alone,  Dick  in 
due  time  found  the  horse  tied  at  the  path's  side,  and 
mounted  to  overtake  and  pass  Tom  in  turn.  He 
caught  up  to  his  comrade  at  the  place  where,  it  had 
been  decided,  they  should  cross  the  Juniata,  which 

5° 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE    GEORGE.  51 

they  did  on  horseback  together,  partly  by  fording 
and  partly  by  swimming  the  horse.  Proceeding  as 
before,  and  not  losing  the  time  to  cross  to  the  island 
for  a  visit  to  Dick's  grandfather  when  they  reached 
the  Susquehanna,  they  came  at  nightfall  to  the  house 
of  a  farmer  on  the  west  bank  of  that  river,  and 
lodged  there.  At  early  dawn  they  were  on  their 
way  again,  and  just  as  the  sun  rose  Dick  reached 
the  crest  of  the  farthest  mountains  southeast  of  his 
home.  Who  could  describe  his  feelings  as  he  looked 
for  the  first  time  over  the  fair  wooded  country  that 
rolled  afar  towards  the  purple  and  golden  east  ?  Did 
his  mother,  at  this  moment,  looking  towards  the 
farthest  azure  line,  know  he  was  there  at  last,  and 
that  he  saw  what  the  birds  had  seen  that  he  had  so 
often  envied  when  they  flew  eastward  ?  "  Get  up !  " 
he  cried,  and  urged  his  horse  down  the  eastern 
mountainside  towards  his  future. 

Riding  and  tying,  the  two  comrades  came  to 
Harris's  ferry-house,  whence  they  crossed  the  Susque 
hanna  in  a  scow,  to  the  small  collection  of  low  build 
ings —  stone  residence,  old  storehouse  for  skins, 
blockhouse  for  defence,  and  others  —  which  then 
constituted  Harrisburg.  While  they  were  crossing, 
the  ferryman  at  the  pole  entertained  them  with  anec 
dotes  of  the  parents  of  the  John  Harris  of  that  day, 
—  how  they  were  sturdy  Yorkshire  people  ;  how  the 
wife  Esther  once  in  time  of  necessity  rode  all  the 


52  THE    ROAD    TO    PARIS. 

way  to  Philadelphia  in  one  day  on  the  same  horse ; 
how  she  was  once  up  the  river  on  a  trading  trip  to 
Big  Island,  and  heard  of  her  husband's  illness  and 
came  down  in  a  bark  canoe  in  a  day  and  a  night ; 
how  she  was  a  good  trader,  and  could  write,  and  had 
boxed  the  ears  of  many  an  Indian  chief  when  he  was 
drunk  ;  how  she  could  swim  as  well  as  a  man  and 
handle  firearms  as  well  as  any  hunter ;  how  she 
worked  at  the  building  of  her  brick  house  five  miles 
up  the  Susquehanna ;  how  she  once  ran  up-stairs  and 
took  from  a  cask  of  powder  a  lighted  candle  that  her 
maid  had  mistakenly  stuck  in  the  bung-hole  ;  how  the 
then  present  John  Harris  was  the  first  white  child 
born  thereabouts  and  was  taken  to  Philadelphia  to 
be  baptized  in  Christ's  Church.  Dick  would  have 
liked  to  see  the  inside  of  the  church  at  Paxton, 
three  miles  from  Harrisburg,  because  one  of  his 
acquaintances,  having  got  a  girl  into  trouble,  had 
made  public  confession  before  the  congregation  there, 
praying  in  the  usual  formula : 

"  For  my  own  game, 
Have  done  this  shame, 
Pray  restore  me  to  my  lands  again." 

He  would  have  liked,  'also,  to  seek  out  some  mem 
ber  of  the  gang  of  "Paxton  Boys"  that  had  killed 
the  Conestogo  Indians  in  Lancaster  County,  in  1764, 
and  get  the  other  side  of  that  story,  which  was 


AT  THE   SIGN  OF  THE    GEORGE.  53 

generally  accepted  as  one  of  unwarranted  massacre 
of  friendly  natives.  But  the  impulse  to  press  for 
ward  overcame  the  other,  and  the  travellers,  having 
followed  the  left  bank  of  the  Susquehanna,  by  the 
road  which  had  been  in  existence  from  Harris's  since 
1736,  lodged  on  the  second  night  of  their  journey  at 
a  wooden  tavern  in  the  village  of  Middletown.  The 
next  morning  they  turned  directly  eastward,  their 
backs  towards  the  Susquehanna,  and  proceeded  on 
the  road  to  Lancaster.  They  now  entered  the  band 
of  country  settled  by  German  Protestants,  whose 
fertile  farms  gave  the  slightly  undulating  land  a  soft 
and  smiling  appearance. 

At  noon,  dining  at  a  rude  log  hostelry,  more  farm 
house  than  tavern,  they  were  invited  to  drink  by  two 
thin,  middle-aged,  merry  fellows,  in  brown  cloth  coats 
and  cocked  hats,  who  said  they  were  Philadelphia 
merchants  returning  from  a  view  of  some  interior 
land  which  they  intended  to  purchase  for  the  purpose 
of  developing  trade.  They  invited  Tom  and  Dick  to 
drink  with  them,  laughed  so  boisterously  at  Tom's 
sage  jokes,  and  expressed  so  much  admiration  of 
Dick's  intelligence  and  book-learning,  that  when  all 
four  left  the  tavern  to  proceed  eastward,  Dick  and 
Tom,  seeing  that  the  two  jolly  merchants  were  afoot, 
took  counsel  together  and  agreed  to  share  with  them 
the  use  of  the  horse.  This  generous  idea  was  engen 
dered  by  a  hint  that  one  of  the  merchants  made  in 


54  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

jest.  The  horse  was  a  huge  animal  and  could  easily 
bear  any  two  of  four  such  thin  men  as  were  those 
concerned.  Lots  were  cast  to  determine  which  two 
should  be  the  pair  to  mount  first.  One  of  the  two 
merchants  held  the  straws,  and  as  a  result  of  the 
drawing  he  and  his  companion  got  on  the  horse 
together  and  started.  A  turn  in  the  road  hid 
them  from  view  in  half  a  minute.  Dick  and  Mac- 
Alister  were  about  to  follow  afoot,  when  they  were 
reminded  by  the  tavern-keeper  that  the  drinks 
taken  at  the  merchants'  invitation  were  yet  to  be 
paid  for. 

"Bedad,"  said  Tom,  "our  friends  were  so  busy 
laughing  at  my  tale  of  the 'ensign's  wife  at  the  battle 
of  Minden,  they  forgot  to  settle  the  score."  Dick, 
who  had  been  provided  with  sufficient  silver  to  see 
him  to  Philadelphia,  besides  his  two  gold  pieces, 
speedily  paid  the  bill,  and  the  two  comrades  resumed 
their  journey.  After  several  minutes  of  silence, 
Tom  expressed  some  belated  surprise  at  the  fact  that 
two  substantial  merchants  should  be  travelling  afoot. 
Dick  replied  that  there  must  be  some  interesting 
reason  for  so  unusual  a  circumstance.  "Ay,"  said 
Tom,  "  we'll  speer  them  when  we  catch  up  to  them." 
The  two  trudged  on.  By  and  by  Dick  began  to 
look,  each  time  the  road  made  a  turn,  for  the  horse 
standing  at  the  side  of  the  way,  accordingly  to  agree 
ment.  An  hour  had  passed  since  the  tavern  had  been 


AT   THE  SIGN  OF  THE    GEORGE.  55 

left  behind.     Another  hour  followed.     At  last  Dick 
broke  the  silence : 

"  Is  it  likely  our  friends  may  have  lost  their  way  ?  " 
Tom  MacAlister  drew  a  deep  breath  and  replied  : 
"  Devil  a  bit  is  it  them  that's  lost  their  way !     It's 
us  that's  lost  our  horse." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Two  such  worthy 
Philadelphia  merchants ! " 

"  Philadelphia  nothing  !  I'll  warrant  they  do  be  a 
pair  of  rascals  from  the  Connecticut  settlement  in 
the  Wyoming  Valley,  turned  out  of  the  community 
for  such-like  tricks  as  they've  played  on  us  new-born 
babes.  That's  the  effect  on  me  of  twelve  years' 
residence  in  the  wilderness.  My  son,  it's  time  we 
throwed  off  our  state  of  innocence  and  braced  our 
selves  to  meet  the  mickle  deviltry  of  the  world. 
Richard,  lad,  I  tell  it  to  ye  now,  though  ye'll  no  mind 
it  till  ye've  had  it  pounded  into  ye  by  sore  experience, 
your  fellow  man  is  kittle  cattle,  and  your  fellow 
woman  more  so  !  " 

They  might  have  had  to  walk  all  the  way  to  Lan 
caster  but  that  they  were  overtaken  by  a  train  of 
pack-horses  from  Carlisle,  and  paid  the  pack-driver 
to  shift  the  horses'  loads  and  give  them  the  use  of 
one  of  the  animals.  At  evening  they  arrived  at 
Lancaster,  which  then  had  some  thousands  of  in 
habitants  and  was  to  Dick  quite  a  busy  and  town-like 
place.  He  saw  the  prison  where  the  Indian  chief 


56  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Murhancellin  had  been  confined  on  being  appre 
hended  by  Captain  Jack's  hunters  for  the  murder  of 
three  Juniata  men  the  previous  year.  Dick  went  to 
see  the  barracks,  the  Episcopal  and  German  churches, 
and  a  house  where  some  of  the  famous  Lancaster 
stockings  were  made.  He  gazed  with  wonder  and 
hidden  disapproval  at  the  long  beards  of  the  Omish 
men,  and  enjoyed  the  bustle  of  horses  and  wagons 
before  the  excellent  tavern  where  he  and  Tom  passed 
the  night.  The  next  morning  the  two  got  seats  in 
one  of  the  huge  covered  wagons  engaged  in  the  trade 
between  Philadelphia  and  the  interior.  They  dined 
at  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  Tavern,  and  put  up  at 
evening  at  the  sign  of  the  Ship,  thirty-five  miles 
from  Philadelphia.  This  distance  was  covered  the 
next  day,  and  a  little  before  sunset,  the  wagon  having 
crossed  the  picturesque  Schuylkill  by  the  Middle 
Ferry  and  passed  under  beautiful  trees  down  the 
High  Street  road,  through  the  Governor's  Woods  and 
by  brick  kilns  and  verdant  commons,  and  across  little 
water-courses  spanned  by  wooden  bridges,  Dick  set 
his  eyes  on  Philadelphia,  whose  spires  and  dormer 
windows  reflected  the  level  sun  rays,  and  whose  trim 
brick  and  wooden  houses  rose  among  leafy  gardens. 
The  town  then  had  about  thirty  thousand  people,  and 
lay  close  along  the  Delaware,  its  built-up  portion  ex 
tending  at  the  widest  part  about  seven  or  eight 
streets  from  the  river,  not  counting  the  alleys  and 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE    GEORGE.  $? 

by-streets.  As  the  wagon  lumbered  down  High 
Street,  which  was  then  popularly  (as  it  is  now  offi 
cially)  known  as  Market  Street,  Dick  kept  his 
emotions  to  himself,  satisfying  his  curiosity  without 
betraying  it,  and  in  no  outward  way  disclosing  how 
novel  to  him  was  the  actual  sight,  which  neither  ex 
celled  nor  fell  short  of  the  scene  he  had  so  often 
imagined,  much  as  it  differed  from  it  in  general  ap 
pearance.  At  Fourth  Street,  as  the  wagon  continued 
east,  the  houses  began  to  be  quite  close  together. 
At  Third,  the  markets  began,  and  ran  thence  down 
the  middle  of  the  street  towards  the  Delaware.  The 
wagon,  with  its  eight  horses,  stopped  for  some  reason 
at  the  Indian  King  Tavern,  near  Third  Street,  where 
upon  Tom  and  Dick,  having  settled  with  the  wagoner, 
and  not  intending  to  lodge  at  that  inn,  proceeded 
afoot  down  Market  Street,  a  part  of  which  was  paved 
with  stones  and  had  a  narrow  sidewalk  for  foot-pas 
sengers.  This  last-named  convenience  was  one  that 
even  some  of  the  first  cities  of  Europe  then  lacked. 

The  animation  of  the  streets  quite  put  to  shame 
Dick's  recollections  of  the  little  bustle  at  Lancaster. 
The  rifles  and  baggage  of  the  two  did  not  attract 
much  attention  among  the  citizens  and  tradespeople, 
in  those  days  of  much  hunting,  and  especially  at  a 
time  when  there  was  already  talk  of  new  military 
companies  forming,  when  the  provincial  militia  was 
drilling  and  recruiting,  and  when  men  were  coming 


58  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

to  town  to  offer  the  colonies  their  services  in  the 
event  of  general  revolt.  Delegates  were  already 
arriving  from  other  colonies  to  attend  the  Second 
Continental  Congress,  which  was  to  meet  on  the 
tenth. 

As  the  two  comrades  approached  the  London 
Coffee  House,  at  Front  and  Market  Streets,  they 
saw  three  well-dressed  citizens  issue  from  the  door 
and  greet  with  the  utmost  respect  a  stocky  old 
gentleman  who  had  just  turned  in  from  Front 
Street,  and  whose  face  was  both  venerable  and 
worldly,  kind  and  shrewd,  while  his  plain  brown  coat 
took  nothing  from  his  look  of  distinction,  and  his 
walking  -  stick  seemed  quite  unnecessary  to  one 
whose  vigor  was  still  that  of  youth.  He  cordially 
responded  to  the  three  gentlemen,  the  first  of  whom 
detained  him  for  the  purpose  of  introducing  the 
third.  The  name  by  which  the  old  gentleman  was 
addressed  startled  Dick  for  the  moment  out  of  his 
self-possession,  and  he  stopped  and  stared  with 
unfeigned  curiosity  and  pleasure.  It  was  his  first 
sight  of  a  world-famous  man,  and  the  writer  of  Poor 
Richard's  Almanac,  whose  proverbs  every  Pennsyl- 
vanian  knew  by  heart,  the  celebrated  philosopher, 
the  wise  agent  of  the  provinces,  who  had  just 
returned  from  London,  lost  nothing  in  Dick's 
admiration  from  the  youth's  visual  inspection  of 
his  face  and  person. 


AT   THE  SIGN  OF   THE    GEORGE.  59 

While  Doctor  Franklin  stood  talking  with  the 
three,  Dick  and  Tom  went  on  past  Front  and 
Water  Streets,  turned  down  along  the  wharves, 
and  presently  arrived  at  their  recommended  desti 
nation,  the  Crooked  Billet  Inn,  which  stood  at  the 
end  of  an  alley  on  a  wharf  above  Chestnut  Street. 
The  two  engaged  lodging  for  the  night,  bestowed 
their  belongings,  and  went  for  supper  to  Pegg 
Mullen's  Beefsteak  House,  at  the  southeast  corner 
of  Water  Street  and  Mullen's  Alley.  Having  de 
voured  one  of  the  steaks  for  which  that  house  was 
famous,  and  as  it  was  not  yet  dark,  Dick  proposed 
a  walk  about  the  city.  But  Tom  demurred  as  to 
himself,  and  said  in  a  low  tone,  turning  his  eye 
towards  a  party  of  young  gentlemen  who  sat  at  a 
near-by  table  : 

"  Go  and  see  the  sights,  lad,  and  ye'll  meet  me  at 
the  Crooked  Billet  some  time  before  the  hour  of 
setting  out,  the  morning.  I've  other  fish  to  fry, 
for  a  private  purpose  of  my  own.  And  should  ye 
see  me  in  company  with  yon  roisterers,  mind  to 
call  me  captain  or  not  at  all,  for  I'm  bent  on 
introducing  myself  to  their  acquaintance,  and  that'll 
require  me  belonging  to  the  quality." 

Dick  looked  at  the  group  indicated,  which  con 
sisted  of  a  handsome,  insolent-looking  young  man 
of  about  twenty-five  and  three  gay  dogs  of  the  same 
age,  whose  loud  conversation  had  dealt  exclusively 


6O  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

with  cards  and  other  implements  of  fortune.  With 
no  hope  or  wish  of  fathoming  MacAlister's  designs, 
Dick  paid  the  bill  (for  his  friend  was  almost  without 
money),  and  left  the  eating-house.  He  first  in 
spected  parts  of  Water  and  Front  Streets,  where 
many  rich  merchants'  lived  over  their  shops  ;  then 
viewed  the  handsomer  residences  in  South  Second 
Street ;  saw  the  City  Tavern  and  some  of  the  well- 
dressed  people  resorting  there  ;  looked  at  Carpenter's 
Hall,  where  the  Congress  had  met  the  preceding 
year ;  walked  out  to  the  State  House,  crossed 
Chestnut  Street  therefrom,  to  drink  at  the  sign  of 
the  Coach  and  Horses,  the  old  rough-dashed  tavern 
nestling  amidst  great  walnut-trees ;  loitered  on  the 
bridge  to  look  down  at  Dock  Creek  each  time  he 
crossed  that  stream.  When,  at  dusk,  the  street 
lamps  were  lighted  (for,  thanks  to  Franklin,  Phila 
delphia  had  long  possessed  the  best  street  lamps 
in  the  world),  the  town  assumed  what  to  Dick  was 
a  fairy  like  appearance.  Of  the  people  he  saw  in 
the  streets,  perhaps  a  third  wore  the  broadbrims 
of  the  Quakers.  A  few  of  the  faces  were  of  the 
German  type,  but  most  were  of  the  unmistakable 
English  character,  and  from  such  of  these  as  were 
not  Quaker  a  trained  observer  might  easily  have 
picked  out  a  Church  of  England  person  or  a  Dis 
senter  at  sight.  On  first  entering  the  city  Dick 
had  been  struck  with  the  prettiness  of  the  young 


AT   THE  SIGN  OF   THE    GEORGE.  6 1 

women,  but  now  that  night  had  fallen  and  he  had 
returned  to  the  vicinity  of  the  river,  the  few  of  the 
fair  that  he  saw  abroad  were  of  rather  bedraggled 
appearance. 

As  he  walked  along  the  wharves,  listening  to  the 
lap  of  the  tide  against  the  piles  and  vessels,  he  heard 
a  sharp  scream  of  mingled  pain  and  anger,  in  a  fem 
inine  voice.  Looking  quickly  towards  the  wharf 
whence  it  came,  he  saw,  in  the  light  from  the 
corner  of  a  small  warehouse,  a  young  woman  re 
coiling  from  the  blow  of  a  sailor  who  was  about 
to  strike  her  again.  She  dodged  the  second  blow, 
and  the  sailor  made  ready  to  deliver  a  third,  but 
before  he  could  do  so  Dick's  fist  landed  on  the  side 
of  his  head  and  he  dropped  to  the  wharf,  dazed  and 
limp.  Dick  then  took  off  his  hat  to  the  woman, 
who  was  a  slender  creature  of  about  twenty,  dressed 
with  a  cheap  attempt  at  gaiety.  With  quite  attractive 
large  eyes,  she  quickly  viewed  Dick  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Rely  on  my  protection,  madam,"  said  he,  tingling 
with  exultation  at  having  had  so  early  an  opportunity 
to  figure  as  a  rescuer  of  assailed  womankind. 

"1  am  afraid  he  will  follow  me,"  said  the  girl,  in  a 
low  tone,  glancing  at  the  sailor,  after  her  examination 
of  Dick's  appearance. 

"  He  will  do  so  at  his  peril,  if  you'll  accept  my 
arm  to  the  place  where  you  are  going,"  said  Dick, 
with  great  gallantry  and  inward  self-applause. 


62  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

The  girl  took  the  proffered  arm,  cast  a  final  look 
at  the  sailor,  who  was  foggily  trying  to  get  on  his 
legs,  and  led  Dick  off  at  a  rapid  gait.  They  had 
turned  into  an  alley  towards  Water  Street  before  the 
sailor  had  fully  regained  his  senses.  Up  Water  Street 
the  girl  went,  giving  Dick  the  opportunity  to  see,  by 
a  window  light  or  a  street  lamp  here  and  there,  that 
her  features,  though  pale,  were  well  formed.  For 
beauty  they  lacked  only  something  in  expression. 
After  passing  several  streets,  the  girl  turned  into 
another  alley  that  led  towards  the  river,  stopped  at  a 
mean  two-story  wooden  house  half  way  down,  and 
asked  her  preserver  to  come  in  and  accept  some 
refreshment.  He  did  so  with  alacrity,  and  found 
himself  in  a  small  room  beneath  the  rafters,  the  floor 
bare,  the  single  window  broken  in  most  of  its  small 
panes,  a  tumble-down  bed  taking  up  half  the  apart 
ment,  a  broken  wooden  chair  beside  a  dressing-table, 
the  whole  lighted  by  a  single  tallow  candle  that  the 
girl  obtained  down-stairs.  Without  consulting  her 
guest,  she  called  to  some  invisible  person  below  for 
brandy  and  water,  with  two  tumblers.  Dick  sat  on 
the  chair,  his  hostess  on  the  bed,  both  in  silence,  till 
the  liquor  was  brought  by  a  fat,  red-faced  woman 
with  unkempt  hair,  who  grinned  amiably  at  Dick,  and 
departed  only  after  several  suggestive  looks  at  the 
brandy.  Her  fishing  for  an  invitation  to  partake  was 
all  in  vain,  being  unobserved  by  the  inexperienced  Dick. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF   THE    GEORGE.  63 

When  he  was  alone  with  the  heroine  of  his  first 
adventure,  and  the  brandy  had  been  tasted,  Dick 
undertook  to  overcome  her  reticence,  being  sure  that 
she  had  some  story  of  unmerited  misfortune  to  tell. 
She  soon  gratified  him  with  a  tale  as  harrowing  as 
might  have  been  found  anywhere  in  fiction.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  people  of  quality  who  had  lost 
their  all  through  the  schemes  of  designing  persons, 
and  her  only  weapon  against  starvation  was  her 
needle.  She  had  that  evening  delivered  some  sewing 
to  the  wife  of  a  sea-captain  on  his  vessel,  which  was 
to  sail  that  night,  and  it  was  on  her  return  therefrom 
that  she  had  been  accosted  by  the  sailor,  whose 
blows  were  elicited  by  the  repulse  she  had  given 
him.  Her  face  became  more  animated  as  she  talked, 
and  Dick  began  to  think  her  fascinating.  Brandy 
was  called  for  and  served  repeatedly,  and  at  last  the 
red-faced  woman  who  brought  it  said  she  was  going 
to  bed  and  could  serve  no  more  that  night,  and  her 
bill  was  ten  shillings.  Dick  promptly  paid,  for 
getting  that  he  was  the  invited  guest,  and  not 
neglecting  the  occasion  to  show  in  a  careless  way 
how  much  money  he  carried.  The  girl  then  told 
him  that,  as  he  would  certainly  find  his  tavern  closed 
should  he  return  to  it  at  so  late  an  hour,  she  would, 
in  spite  of  appearances  and  on  account  of  his  char 
acter  and  his  services  to  her,  share  her  own  poor 
accommodations  with  him  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 


64  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

As  Dick  was  now  in  a  state  in  which  he  would  have 
solicited  this  favor  had  it  not  been  offered,  he  readily 
accepted. 

When  he  awoke,  at  dawn,  he  found  himself  alone. 
Taking  up  his  waistcoat  to  put  it  on,  he  noticed  that 
a  certain  inner  pocket  did  not  bulge  as  usually.  A 
swift  investigation  disclosed  that  all  his  money  had 
disappeared,  silver  as  well  as  gold.  There  was  not  a 
sign  of  his  hostess  left  in  the  bare,  squalid  room. 
He  hastened  down  the  steep,  narrow  stairs,  and  met, 
in  the  entry  below,  the  red-faced  servitor,  of  whom 
he  inquired  the  whereabouts  of  the  girl.  The  fat 
woman  professed  entire  ignorance  of  all  occurrences 
since  she  had  left  the  young  people  the  night  before. 
From  that  moment  to  this,  she  said,  she  had  slept 
like  a  top,  and  from  her  reply  Dick  learned  that  she 
was  the  proprietress  of  the  house,  and  that  the 
unfortunate  daughter  of  people  of  quality  was  a  new 
lodger,  of  whom  she  knew  nothing.  A  theory 
formed  itself  in  Dick's  mind,  and  he  hastened  from 
the  house  to  the  Crooked  Billet,  where  he  was 
astonished  to  find  Tom  MacAlister  just  arrived  from 
a  night,  like  Dick's,  passed  elsewhere  than  at  that 
inn.  Dick  rapidly  recounted  his  adventure  to  Tom, 
over  a  morning  glass  at  the  bar,  and  ended  his 
narration  with  the  words  : 

"  Do  you  know  what  her  disappearance  means  ? " 

"  What  ? "  grunted  Tom. 


AT   THE   SIGN  OF  THE    GEORGE.  65 

"  It  means  that  my  robbers  have  carried  her  away 
in  order  to  silence  all  evidence  of  their  crime !  Or, 
maybe,  the  sailor  tracked  us  and  procured  a  gang  to 
abduct  her,  and  robbed  me  in  doing  so,  either  in 
revenge  or  to  pay  his  accomplices  ! " 

"  Huh !  Ye're  ower  fu'  of  them  there  things  ye 
read  in  the  novel-books,  Dickie,  lad." 

"  By  George,  this  proves  that  real  life  is  some 
times  very  like  the  novels  !  I  hope  this  affair  will 
end  like  them.  We  must  find  the  girl,  Tom ;  we 
must  rescue  her  !  " 

"  Be  jabers,  we  maun  be  spry  about  it,  then,  for 
the  New  York  stage-coach  starts  from  the  sign  of 
the  George  in  an  hour." 

"  Come,  then !  But  I  won't  leave  Philadelphia 
till  I've  found  her,  though  we  have  to  wait  for  an 
other  day's  stage-coach.  Come,  Tom,  for  God's  sake 
don't  be  so  slow  !  " 

Tom  indeed  walked  so  deliberately  from  the 
Crooked  Billet  that  Dick  had  to  accelerate  his  prog 
ress  by  tugging  at  his  arm.  Dick  hurried  him  up 
along  the  wharves,  without  the  slightest  plan  of- 
action  formed.  "  Bide  a  wee,"  said  Tom,  presently  ; 
"sure,  there's  no  arriving  anywhere  till  ye've  laid 
out  your  line  of  march.  Come  wi'  me  into  yon  tav 
ern,  and  we'll  plan  a  campaign  in  decency  and  order." 
Dick  saw  the  good  sense  of  this,  and  turned  with 
Tom  up  an  alley  towards  a  wretched-looking  place, 


66  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

of  which  the  use  was  indicated  alike  by  its  dirty  sign 
and  by  the  sounds  of  drunken  merriment  issuing 
from  its  windows.  As  Dick  and  Tom  entered,  they 
saw  by  whom  those  sounds  were  produced,  —  a  sailor 
and  a  young  woman  drinking  together  in  great  good- 
fellowship  at  a  table.  Dick  recognized  both,  —  the 
sailor  whom  he  had  knocked  down  the  night  before, 
the  girl  in  whose  defence  he  had  knocked  him 
down.  Both  looked  up  as  he  entered,  and  the  girl 
burst  out  laughing  in  a  jeering,  drunken  fashion. 
"That's  him,"  she  said  to  her  companion,  who  there 
upon  began  to  bellow  mirthfully  to  himself,  regarding 
Dick  with  mingled  curiosity  and  amusement. 

"Wha  might  your  friends  be?"  queried  Mac- 
Alister  of  Dick. 

"  Come  away,"  said  Dick,  a  little  huskily ;  and 
when  the  two  were  out  in  the  alley,  whither  the 
derisive  shouts  of  the  pair  inside  followed  them,  he 
added,  "  If  the  stage  goes  in  an  hour,  we'd  better 
be  taking  our  things  to  the  sign  of  the  George." 

"But  your  money?  'Twas  a  canny  quantity  of 
coin  ye  had  in  the  bit  pocket  there." 

"  Damn  the  money  !  I  couldn't  prove  anything, 
and  I  want  to  get  away  from  here.  But  —  by  the 
lord,  how  can  we  go  on  without  money  ?" 

"  Whist,  lad !  If  some  folk  choose  to  spend  the 
nicht  a-losing  of  their  coin,  there's  others  knows  how 
to  tell  a  different  tale  the  morning.  Do  ye  mind 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF   THE    GEORGE.  6? 

the  braw  soldier-looking  lad  I  proposed  to  thrust  my 
company  on,  in  the  beefsteak  house  ?  If  I  didn't 
introduce  myself  as  Captain  MacAlister,  retired  on 
half  pay  from  his  Majesty's  army,  and  if  I  didn't  pile 
up  a  bonny  pile  of  yellow  boys  through  handling  the 
cards  wi'  him  and  his  pals  in  his  room  at  the  George 
all  nicht,  then  I'm  seven  kinds  of  a  liar,  and  may  all 
my  days  be  Fridays !  Oh,  Dickie,  lad,  a  knowledge 
of  the  cards,  ye'll  find,  comes  in  handy  at  mony  a 
place  in  the  journey  through  this  wicked,  greedy, 
grasping  world !  "  And  old  Tom  made  one  of  his 
pockets  jingle  as  he  finished. 

The  two  travellers  returned  to  the  Crooked  Billet, 
paid  for  the  lodging  they  had  not  used,  got  their 
weapons  and  baggage,  and  went  to  Second  Street 
and  thereon  north  to  Arch,  at  the  southwest  corner 
of  which  the  sign  of  St.  George  battling  with  the 
dragon  hung  before  the  fine  and  famous  inn  where 
the  stage-coaches  departed  and  arrived.  The  "Fly 
ing  Machine "  was  already  drawn  up  before  the 
entrance,  the  horses  snorting  and  pawing  in  impa 
tience  to  start.  Dick  and  Tom  saw  their  belongings 
safely  stowed  in  the  coach,  which  was  a  flat-roofed 
vehicle  simple  and  plain  in  shape,  and  loitered  before 
the  inn,  watching  the  hostlers  and  enjoying  the  fine 
spring  sunshine,  while  MacAlister  gave  Dick  a  fur 
ther  description  of  the  card-playing  young  man  from 
whom  much  of  the  money  had  been  won, 


68  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"  I  took  the  more  joy  in  winning,"  added  Tom, 
"  for  because  the  young  buck  showed  himsel'  sic  a 
masterfu',  overbearing  de'il  and  ill-natured  loser,  not 
at  all  like  his  friend  wi'  the  French  name,  who 
dropped  his  round  shiners  like  a  gentleman.  And 
mind  here,  now,  take  heed  to  call  me  captain  should 
they  fa'  in  wi'  us  on  the  way  to  New  York,  for,  frae 
the  talk  of  them,  I  conjecture  that  them  and  the 
Frenchman's  sister  start  the  morning  hame-bound 
for  Quebec,  on  their  ain  horses." 

"  Do  they  come  from  Quebec  ? " 

"Ay,  on  business  for  the  Frenchman  and  his 
sister,  wha,  it  seems,  cam'  in  for  the  proceeds  of 
some  estate  in  this  town,  them  being  of  English 
bluid  on  the  mother's  side.  That  I  gathered  frae 
the  Frenchman's  talk  wi'  a  man  of  the  law  wha 
called  while  his  hot-headed  friend  and  me  and  the 
others  were  at  the  cards.  Ah,  now  I  mind  the 
friend's  name,  —  Blagdon,  Lieutenant  Blagdon  ;  for, 
bechune  you  and  me,  he's  a  King's  officer  on  leave  of 
absence  frae  Quebec,  only  he  keeps  it  quiet  just  now, 
lest  the  mob  might  throw  a  stane  or  two  his  way." 

"  Then  what's  he  doing  here  ? " 

"  Bearing  company  to  the  Frenchman  and  his  sis 
ter.  It's  like  there's  summat  bechune  him  and  the 
girl,  though  devil  a  bit  could  I  find  that  out,  wi'  all 
my  speering.  But  come,  lad,  while  we  ha'  our  choice 
of  .seats/' 


AT   THE   SIGN  OF   THE   GEORGE.  69 

They  entered  the  coach,  where  they  were  soon 
joined  by  other  passengers.  While  Dick  was  watch 
ing  the  driver  on  the  front  seat  take  up  lines  and 
whip,  three  horses  were  brought  from  the  yard,  and 
at  the  same  time  two  young  gentlemen  and  a  young 
lady  came  out  of  the  inn  and  stood  ready  to  mount. 
Dick  did  not  observe  them  until  his  attention  was 
called  from  the  driver  by  some  low-spoken  words 
of  MacAlister's  : 

"That's  a  sour-faced  return  for  a  friendly  saluta 
tion  !  'Tis  the  English  lieutenant  that  gave  me  a 
scowl  for  my  bow.  Sure,  the  French  Canadian  has 
more  civility." 

By  this  time  the  three  were  mounted.  Dick  at 
once  recognized  the  robust  but  surly-looking  young 
man  on  the  right  as  the  arrogant  talker  of  the  beef 
steak  house,  and  the  rather  slight  but  good-looking 
and  well-mannered  youth  on  the  left  as  one  of  the 
other's  companions  there.  The  lady  between  the  two 
was  partly  concealed  from  Dick's  view  by  the  Eng 
lish  officer,  until  with  a  crack  of  the  driver's  whip 
the  stage-coach  pulled  out,  when,  by  looking  back, 
he  had  a  full  sight  of  her.  The  sight  caused  his 
lips  to  part  and  himself  to  throw  all  his  conscious 
ness  into  his  eyes  alone. 

Catherine  de  St.  Valier,  daughter  of  a  younger 
branch  of  the  noble  French  Canadian  family  of  that 
name,  was  then  in  her  seventeenth  year,  tall  and 


/O  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

well  developed  for  her  age,  in  carriage  erect  without 
stiffness,  her  face  oval  in  shape  with  chin  full  but 
not  too  sharp  or  too  strong,  nose  straight  and  deli 
cate,  dainty  ears,  forehead  about  whose  sides  hair  of 
dark  brown  fell  in  curves  but  left  the  middle  uncov 
ered,  brows  finely  arched  and  high  above  the  eyes, 
which  were  of  a  piercing  black  and  never  too  wide 
open,  full  red  lips,  complexion  pale  but  clear,  with 
a  very  faint  touch  of  red  in  each  cheek,  her  coun 
tenance  dignified  and  made  doubly  interesting  by 
a  slight  frown  ever  present  save  when  she  smiled, 
which  was  rarely  and  then  naturally  and  with  no 
gush  of  overpowering  sweetness.  The  slightly 
thrown-back  attitude  of  her  head  was  no  affectation, 
but  was  a  family  characteristic,  possessed  also  by  her 
brother. 

"  What  is  it,  lad  ? "  whispered  MacAlister,  catch 
ing  Dick's  arm.  "  Sure,  ye'll  be  leaving  that  head 
of  yours  behind  ye  in  the  road  if  ye  bean't  carefu' ! " 

"  Sure,"  Dick  murmured,  as  he  drew  his  head  in, 
"  I  think  I've  left  this  heart  of  mine  back  yonder 
under  the  sign  of  the  George." 

Tom  gave  a  low  whistle.  "Weel,  weel,"  he  then 
said,  "it  'ull  soon  catch  up,  for  this  Flying  Machine, 
as  they  call  it,  is  no  match  for  them  Virginia  pacers 
the  Canadian  folk  is  mounted  on." 

This  prediction  was  soon  fulfilled.  Ere  the  stage 
coach  had  passed  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  a  little 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF   THE    GEORGE.  /I 

above  Vine  Street,  the  three  riders  had  cantered  by 
at  a  gait  that  promised  soon  to  take  them  far  ahead. 
"Nay,  don't  be  cast  down,"  quoth  Tom.  "We're 
like  to  run  across  them  on  the  journey,  and  they'll 
have  to  wait  in  New  York  for  their  baggage,  which 
goes  by  wagon.  I  mind  now,  frae  the  gentlemen's 
talk,  they'll  go  up  the  Hudson  by  sloop  till  Albany, 
then  by  horse  again  to  Montreal,  and  then  by  the  St. 
Lawrence  to  Quebec.  What  a  pity  they  don't  be 
bound  for  Boston,  —  eh,  lad  !  But  whist,  Dickie  ! 
The  sea  do  be  full  of  good  fish,  and  it's  mony  a  sonsie 
face  ye'll  be  drawing  deep  breaths  about,  now  yje're 
over  the  hills  and  far  away,  —  and  ganging  f urder 
every  turn  of  the  coach-wheels." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OF  A  BROKEN  SABBATH  AND  BROKEN  HEADS. 

IN  those  days  the  tri-weekly  stage-coaches  made 
the  trip  from  Philadelphia  to  New  York  in  the  un 
precedented  time  of  two  days,  passing  Bristol  and 
several  other  thriving  Pennsylvania  villages,  taking 
ferry  over  the  Delaware  River  to  Trenton,  which  then 
consisted  mainly  of  two  straggling  streets  and  their 
rustic  tributaries ;  bowling  through  New  Jersey 
woods  and  farms  and  hamlets,  and  crossing  ferries 
and  marshes  to  Paulus  Hook,  where  the  passengers 
alighted  and  boarded  the  ferry-boat  for  the  city  whose 
fort,  spires,  and  snug  houses  adorned  the  southern 
most  point  of  the  hilly  island  of  Manhattan.  Sev 
eral  times,  during  the  first  day  of  their  trip,  Dick  and 
MacAlister  had  brief  sights  of  the  three  Canadians, 
who  sometimes  fell  behind  the  stage-coach,  and  as 
often  overtook  and  passed  it  again.  Dick  nursed  a 
hope  of  meeting  the  party  at  dinner,  or  at  the  tavern 
where  the  coach  should  stop  for  the  night,  yet  he 
inwardly  trembled  at  thought  of  such  a  meeting, 
knowing  how  awkward  and  abashed  he  should  feel  in 

72 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  AND  BROKEN  HEADS.  73 

the  presence  of  that  girl.  His  hopes,  however,  were 
disappointed,  for,  though  the  riders  stopped  where 
the  stage  did,  they  ate  in  private  rooms,  and  the  only 
one  of  the  party  who  came  into  the  bar  or  public 
dining-room  anywhere  was  the  English  lieutenant, 
Blagdon,  who  ignored  MacAlister,  and  bestowed  on 
Dick  only  a  look  of  disdain. 

On  the  second  morning  the  Canadians,  as  before, 
started  with  the  stage  and  were  soon  out  of  sight 
ahead.  Dick  kept  a  lookout  forward,  while  Mac 
Alister  engaged  in  talk  with  the  other  passengers, 
with  whom  his  narrative  powers  had  by  this  time 
made  him  highly  popular.  For  a  long  time  Dick 
was  rewarded  with  no  glimpse  of  the  scarlet  riding- 
habit  his  eyes  so  wistfully  sought.  But  at  last,  at  a 
turn  of  the  road,  it  came  into  view  against  the  green 
of  the  woods.  Strangely,  though,  it  was  not  on 
horseback.  The  two  young  gentlemen  stood  beside 
the  girl  in  the  road,  and  not  one  of  their  three  animals 
was  to  be  seen.  All  this  was  quickly  noticed  by  the 
others  in  the  stage-coach,  who  uttered  prompt  expres 
sions  of  wonder,  while  the  driver  whipped  up  his  four 
horses. 

When  the  coach  came  up,  Lieutenant  Blagdon 
hailed  the  driver,  who  immediately  stopped. 

"We  are  in  a  predicament,"  began  the  young 
lieutenant,  in  an  annoyed  and  embarrassed  man 
ner.  "  Half  an  hour  ago,  as  we  were  riding  by  these 


74  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

woods,  several  wild-looking  ruffians  rushed  out  from 
these  bushes  on  either  side  of  the  road,  with  pistols 
and  fowling-pieces,  which  they  aimed  at  us,  and  de 
manded  our  money  and  horses.  We  were  so  com 
pletely  taken  by  surprise,  our  anxiety  for  this  lady's 
safety  was  so  great,  we  could  not  have  drawn  our 
pistols  before  they  could  have  brought  us  down,  — 
in  short,  we  had  to  yield  up  our  horses  and  what 
little  money  we  carried,  and  the  robbers  made  off 
by  the  lane  yonder,  leaving  us  here." 

From  the  passengers  came  cries  of  "  Outrage  !  " 
"See  the  authorities!"  and  "Alarm  the  county!" 
When  others  had  had  their  say,  Tom  MacAlister  was 
for  organizing  a  pursuing  party  of  the  passengers, 
and  was  seconded  by  a  reverend-looking  gentleman, 
who  asked  if  one  of  the  robbers  was  not  blind  of  an 
eye. 

"  The  affair  was  so  quickly  over,  I  for  one  did  not 
notice  any  peculiarities  of  appearance  among  them," 
answered  Blagdon. 

The  young  Frenchman,  standing  with  his  sister  at 
the  edge  of  the  road,  now  spoke,  in  perfectly  good 
English :  "  One  of  them  called  another  Fagan,  in 
ordering  him  to  keep  quiet ;  and  said  '  That's  right, 
Jonathan,'  to  one  who  said  we  shouldn't  delay  in 
hope  of  assistance,  as  they  wo.uld  shoot  us  at  the 
first  sound  of  wheels  or  horses  coming  this  way." 

"^That  makes  it  certain,"  said  the  clerical-looking 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  AND  BROKEN  HEADS.  ?$ 

man ;  "  they  are  the  Pine  Robbers,  as  we  call  them 
in  our  part  of  Monmouth  County,  where  they  are  a 
great  curse.  It  is  surprising,  though,  that  they 
should  venture  so  far  inland  and  from  their  bur 
rows  in  the  sand-hills  by  the  swamps  near  the 
coast. .  I  can  be  of  use  in  tracking  them,  as  I 
live  at  Shrewsbury,  which  is  not  far  from  the 
swamps  they  inhabit  and  the  groggeries  they 
resort  to." 

But  the  officer,  learning  from  further  talk  that 
proper  steps  for  the  recovery  of  the  property  might 
require  several  days,  and  yet  fail,  said  the  attempt 
was  not  to  be  thought  of  ;  that  the  horses  were  the 
only  considerable  loss,  as  his  party  had  relied  on 
money  to  be  taken  up  in  New  York,  and  that  there 
fore  they  could  do  no  more  than  take  places  in  the 
stage-coach  for  that  city. 

As  the  inside  places  were  all  filled,  and  one  of 
them  would  be  required  for  the  girl,  Dick  was  out 
in  the  road  in  an  instant,  blushingly  blundering  out  to 
the  Frenchman  an  offer  of  his  seat  to  the  lady,  with 
the  declaration  that  he  would  ride  outside,  —  which 
in  those  days  meant  on  the  flat  roof  of  the  coach. 
The  Frenchman  bowed  thanks  and  held  out  his 
hand  to  lead  his  sister  to  the  coach;  but  she 
stood  reluctant,  and  said  : 

"  But  the  portrait,  Gerard  ! "  As  she  spoke  her 
eyes  became  moist. 


/6  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"  I  fear  we  must  lose  it,  Catherine,"  said  Gerard, 
sadly. 

"  If  I  can  be  of  any  service,"  said  Dick,  speaking 
as  calmly  as  his  heartbeats  would  let  him,  and  meet 
ing  with  hot  cheeks  the  first  look  the  girl's  fine  eyes 
ever  cast  upon  him. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Gerard,  "  but  I  fear  nothing  can 
be  done.  My  sister  speaks  of  a  miniature  portrait  of 
our  mother,  who  is  dead.  One  of  the  robbers,  the 
one  called  Jonathan,  seeing  the  chain  by  which  it 
was  suspended  from  her  neck,  tore  it  from  her  and 
carried  it  away." 

"  I  will  try  to  recover  it,  sir,"  said  Dick,  bowing 
to  the  girl  while  he  addressed  the  brother.  Hearing 
a  derisive  "  Huh !  "  behind  him,  Dick  turned  and 
saw  Blagdon  viewing  him  with  a  contemptuous 
smile,  which  was  assumed  to  cover  the  chagrin 
caused  by  Dick's  undertaking  a  task  the  officer 
himself  had  shirked.  Dick  reddened  more  deeply, 
with  anger,  but  said  nothing  and  went  to  the 
coach  for  his  rifle  and  baggage.  MacAlister,  always 
accepting  whatever  enterprise  turned  up  for  him, 
promptly  got  out,  with  his  own  belongings,  as  also 
did  the  reverend  gentleman,  who  explained  that  he 
had  intended  leaving  the  coach  at  the  next  village, 
to  go  thence  by  horse  to  his  home  at  Shrewsbury. 
The  vacant  places  were  taken  by  the  Canadians, 
accounts  were  settled  with  the  driver,  Gerard  de  St. 


A   BROKEN  SABBATH  AND  BROKEN  HEADS,     fj 

Valier  courteously  thanked  Dick  again,  giving  him  a 
New  York  address  but  begging  him  to  reconsider  so 
desperate  a  project,  Catherine  sent  back  one  grate 
ful  but  hopeless  look,  the  driver  cracked  his  whip, 
the  coach  rolled  off,  and  the  three  men  were  left 
alone  in  the  forest-bordered  road. 

After  a  brief  consultation,  in  which  it  came 
out  that  the  clerical  gentleman  was  the  Reverend  Mr. 
McKnight,  the  Presbyterian  pastor  of  Shrewsbury, 
it  was  decided  that  the  three  should  go  back  to  the 
last  village  passed,  which  was  nearer  than  the  next 
one  ahead,  hire  horses  there,  then  return,  and  make 
for  Shrewsbury  by  way,  first,  of  the  lane  down  which 
the  robbers  were  said  to  have  fled.  They  would  stop 
at  Freehold,  report  the  robbery  to  the  county  authori 
ties,  and  call  for  the  services  of  sheriff  and  constable 
in  hunting  down  the  malefactors. 

"  If  the  loss  were  merely  of  money  and  horses," 
said  the  pastor,  as  the  three  trudged  along  with  their 
baggage  on  their  backs,  "  I  should  not  stir  far  in  the 
matter,  seeing  that  the  losers  are  apparently  well 
supplied  with  this  world's  goods.  But  the  young 
lady's  sorrow  at  the  loss  of  the  keepsake  was  too 
much  for  me.  It  will  be  a  kind  of  miracle  if  we  get 
it  back.  The  man  Fagan  is  a  desperate  rascal,  and 
so,  for  that  matter,  are  Jonathan  West  and  all  the 
others.  The  man  whom  those  young  people  heard 
giving  orders  to  the  rest  was  doubtless  Fenton,  who 


?8  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

learned  the  blacksmith's  trade  at  Freehold  and  was 
an  excellent  workman  at  it  before  he  took  to  crime. 
These  men  will  stop  at  nothing.  When  they  are 
not  at  refuge  in  their  sand-caves  on  the  edges  of 
swamps,  among  the  brush,  they  are  plundering,  burn 
ing,  and  killing,  by  night,  or  spending  their  ill-gotten 
money  at  some  low  groggery  in  the  pines.  They 
will  rob  anything,  from  a  poor  tailor's  shop  to  a 
wagon  carrying  grain  to  mill,  and,  though  it  doesn't 
sound  like  Christian  charity  to  say  so,  they  ought  to 
be  hanging  now  in  chains  from  trees,  as  they  probably 
will  be  some  day." 

At  the  village,  so  much  time  was  lost  in  obtaining 
horses,  that  it  was  dark  before  the  three  arrived  at  Free 
hold,  and  therefore  they  put  up  for  the  night  at  the 
tavern  next  the  court-house,  which  abode  of  justice  was 
of  wood,  clapboarded  with  shingles,  and  had  a  peaked 
roof.  In  the  tavern  it  was  learned  that  Fenton  and 
his  gang  had  been  seen  passing  two  miles  east  of 
the  court-house,  that  afternoon,  going  towards  Shrews 
bury,  three  on  horseback,  the  others  in  a  wagon. 
Mr.  McKnight  visited  a  justice  of  the  peace,  the 
sheriff,  and  the  constable ;  but,  as  it  was  now  Satur 
day  night,  those  useful  officers  would  not  think  of 
budging  before  Monday.  Dick  feared  that  if  a  day 
were  lost,  even  though  the  miniature  should  be 
recovered,  the  Canadians  would  have  left  New  York 
before  he  could  arrive  there  to  restore  it  to  them. 


A   BROKEN  SABBATH  AND  BROKEN  HEADS.     79 

Accordingly,  the  next  morning,  the  three  men  set 
oui  alone  towards  Shrewsbury,  the  clergyman  having 
stipulated  that  his  share  in  the  enterprise  should  be 
kept  secret,  lest  his  act  might  serve  the  undiscrimi- 
nating  as  an  example  of  Sabbath-breaking. 

"  I  am  clear  in  my  conscience  on  that  score," 
said  the  minister  to  Tom  and  Dick,  "  and,  having  put 
my  hand  to  the  plow  in  this  business,  I  will  not  turn 
back.  I  can  guide  you  to  a  rough  drinking-place  in 
the  woods,  where  it  is  most  likely  the  ruffians  will  be 
found.  To  counterbalance  their  superior  numbers, 
we  must  use  strategy,  and  we  have  in  our  favor  the 
fact  that  most  of  them  are  likely  by  this  time  to  be 
helpless  with  liquor." 

" '  Oh,  that  men  should  put  into  their  mouths  an 
enemy  to  steal  away  their  brains  ! '  "  misquoted  Tom, 
who  thought  it  proper  that  he  should  speak  piously 
in  the  presence  of  the  minister. 

"  It  is  fortunate  for  us  if  they  have  done  so,  in  this 
case,"  said  the  clergyman,  with  a  smile.  A  moment 
later  he  sighed  pensively.  "  My  congregation  will  be 
disappointed  this  morning.  I  was  expected  to  arrive 
home  last  night  and  to  preach  to-day.  I  have  my 
sermon  in  my  pocket." 

"  What  is  the  text,  sir,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  ? " 
asked  Tom. 

"  Leviticus,  sixth  chapter,  fourth  verse :  '  Then 
it  shall  be,  because  he  hath  sinned,  and  is  guilty, 


8O  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

that  he  shall  restore  that  Which  he  took  violently 
away.' ' 

"  By  the  powers,"  cried  Tom,  forgetting  himself, 
"  ye're  like  to  get  more  results  putting  that  text  into 
action  the  morning  than  by  holding  forth  on  it  frae 
your  ain  pulpit !  " 

Under  the  pastor's  guidance,  the  party  turned 
presently  from  the  road  into  the  pine  forest,  through 
which  their  horses  passed  freely  by  reason  of  the 
complete  absence  of  undergrowth.  MacAlister  and 
Dick  had  left  their  baggage  at  Freehold,  and  Mr. 
McKnight's  was  so  light  as  to  encumber  him  little. 
Dick  and  Tom  had  their  rifles,  while  the  minister 
carried  Tom's  pistol.  They  proceeded  in  silence 
some  miles,  now  and  then  emerging  on  clear  places, 
skirting  swamps,  and  advancing  over  ground  that 
became  more  and  more  sandy.  At  last,  in  the  midst 
of  woods,  the  minister  held  his  finger  to  his  lips,  and 
all  three  stopped.  From  a  distance  came  the  sound 
of  a  coarse  voice  singing  in  maudlin  tones  a  tuneless 
song.  The  three  dismounted,  tied  their  horses  to 
trees,  and  walked  cautiously  forward  in  single  file, 
Mr.  McKnight  leading.  A  low,  one-story  log  build 
ing  came  into  view  among  the  trees.  At  one  end  of 
it,  under  a  shed  roof,  stood  four  horses  and  a  wagon. 
The  bawling  of  the  song  came  through  a  small, 
unglazed  window,  of  which  the  oiled  paper  was  torn. 

"They  take  their  pleasure  in  security  now,"  whis- 


A    BROKEN  SABBATH  AND   BROKEN  HEADS.     8 1 

pered  the  minister,  halting  a  moment,  "  because  the 
officers  of  justice  will  not  break  the  Sabbath  to 
attack  them.  On  other  days  they  would  not  be  so 
unguarded.  I  will  look  through  the  window,  and  see 
how  the  land  lies  ;  then  we  shall  decide  what  to  do." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  groggery  and  applied  his 
eye  to  a  slit  in  the  oiled  paper,  while  Dick  and  Tom 
stood  on  either  side.  In  a  moment,  the  preacher 
crouched  down  beneath  the  window,  and,  motioning 
Tom  and  Dick  to  do  likewise,  whispered  : 

"There  has  evidently  been  a  fight.  Fagan  and 
another  are  lying  on  the  floor  with  their  heads  bound 
in  bloody  rags.  Another  is  lying  near  them,  dead 
drunk,  as  his  position  shows.  Jonathan  West  is  sit 
ting  on  the  floor,  also  drunk ;  it  is  he  who  is  singing. 
Fenton  and  Burke  are  playing  cards,  Fenton's  back 
towards  the  door,  Burke  facing  it.  The  keeper  of 
the  place  is  lying  asleep  on  the  bar,  and  his  wife  is 
behind  it  paring  potatoes.  If  we  are  speedy,  two  of 
us  shall  have  only  Fenton  and  Burke  and  the  woman 
to  deal  with,  while  one  goes  through  West's  clothes 
in  search  of  the  miniature." 

"Then  let  us  go  in  at  once,"  said  Dick. 

"Softly,"  quoth  the  minister;  "let  us  all  under 
stand  what  each  is  to  do.  You,  lad,  perhaps  should 
search  West  —  " 

"  Nay,"  put  in  Tom  ;  "  trust  me  for  that.  I've 
plied  my  fingers  on  the  battle-field,  and  can  do  the 


82  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

thing  so  quick  I  can  tak'  my  ain  fu'  share  of 
the  fighting,  too." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  pastor.  "The  door  is 
unbarred.  Let  us  all  three  burst  in  at  once.  You, 
lad,  who  look  the  strongest,  deal  with  Fenton,  the 
man  sitting  with  his  back  to  the  door.  Strike  him 
down  with  the  butt  of  your  rifle,  and  be  ready  to 
shoot  if  he  attempts  to  rise.  I  shall  take  care  of  the 
other  card-player.  You,  Captain  MacAlister,  search 
Jonathan  West  for  the  portrait,  and  keep  your  eye 
on  the  woman  behind  the  bar.  If  I  am  not  mistaken, 
she  will  prove  the  worst  foe  of  all." 

At  MacAlister's  suggestion,  he  and  Dick  each 
looked  through  the  slit  to  get  a  view  of  the  chosen 
field  of  battle.  Then  the  three  stepped  softly  around 
to  the  door.  Each  grasped  his  weapon  tightly,  and 
the  minister  pushed  the  door  open.  All  made  a 
move  to  rush  in,  —  but  started  back  on  being  con 
fronted  by  Fenton  and  Burke,  who  stood,  each  with 
pistol  raised,  doubtless  put  suddenly  on  their  guard 
by  the  sound  of  footsteps. 

Old  Tom  was  the  first  to  recover  from  surprise. 
He  made  a  swift  lunge  at  Burke,  which  caught  that 
person  in  the  neck,  almost  breaking  it,  and  sent  him 
flying  back  into  the  room.  Tom  leaped  after  him, 
and  was  followed  by  the  minister.  Fenton  turned  to 
shoot  the  latter  with  his  pistol,  and  Dick  availed 
himself  of  this  movement  to  bring  down  his  rifle- 


A    BROKEN  SABBATH  AND   BROKEN  HEADS.     83 

butt  heavily  on  the  rascal's  unkempt  head.  Fenton 
did  not  fall,  but,  after  staggering  a  moment,  during 
which  Dick  reversed  his  weapon,  turned  to  shoot  the 
latter,  uttering  a  savage  curse  the  while  ;  he  thus 
opened  his  mouth  wide,  and  Dick  thrust  the  muzzle 
of  the  rifle  therein,  and  forced  Fenton  rapidly  back 
ward  into  the  groggery,  to  the  very  farthest  corner 
thereof,  pinning  him  therein  with  the  rifle-muzzle  in 
his  mouth.  "  Drop  the  pistol,  or  I'll  fire,"  cried 
Dick ;  and  Fenton,  perceiving  his  disadvantage,  did 
so.  Dick  kicked  the  pistol  towards  the  minister,  who 
picked  it  up.  The  gentle  McKnight  had  been  rain 
ing  blows  on  the  head  of  Burke,  who  now  succumbed 
and  lay  without  protest,  leaving  the  minister  free  to 
draw  the  woman's  attention  from  Tom.  She  had  run 
around  the  bar  and  threatened  with  her  knife  the  deft- 
fingered  MacAlister  while  the  latter  was  going  through 
West's  clothes,  an  operation  preceded  by  a  quieting 
blow  on  the  robber's  skull  from  Tom's  rifle-butt.  Of 
the  four  prostrate  men,  the  drunkest  one  slept  on 
through  the  fray,  the  two  gory-headed  rascals  opened 
their  eyes  and  looked  on  with  apathy,  while  the  pro 
prietor  got  down  off  the  bar  and  looked  around  for 
some  weapon  with  which  to  take  a  hand.  At  this 
moment  Dick,  who  continued  to  hold  the  ferocious 
but  speechless  Fenton  against  the  wall,  felt  something 
smooth  slipped  into  his  left  hand,  heard  from  Tom 
the  words,  "  'Tis  yours  to  guard,  lad,"  saw  at  an 


84  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

instant's  glance  that  it  was  the  miniature  portrait  of 
a  woman,  and  thrust  it  into  his  waistcoat  pocket. 
The  proprietor  of  the  place  had  now  picked  up  a 
fowling-piece  from  a  corner  and  was  aiming  it  at 
Dick.  It  was  knocked  up  by  MacAlister,  who  then 
fell  on  its  holder  and  was  in  a  fair  way  to  beat  out 
his  brains,  when  the  woman,  having  seen  her  spouse 
in  danger,  abandoned  her  contest  with  the  minister, 
and  bounded  panther-like  at  Tom.  She  lodged  the 
point  of  her  knife  in  his  cheek,  and  drew  it  out  for  a 
second  blow,  whereupon  the  minister,  putting  a  pistol 
in  each  of  his  coat-pockets,  ran  up  behind  her,  caught 
her  by  the  long  hair,  and  dragged  her  out  of  the 
house.  He  did  not  stop  until  she  was  on  her  back 
on  the  ground.  Before  she  could  rise,  Tom  had  sent 
her  husband  reeling  with  a  final  blow,  and  had  come 
to  aid  the  minister,  knowing  that  the  latter  had  more 
than  a  match  in  the  woman.  Tom  placed  his  feet 
on  her  hair,  which  was  lying  about  her  head,  and, 
digging  his  heels  into  the  sandy  earth,  put  the  muzzle 
of  his  rifle  against  her  forehead,  and  told  her  it  was 
his  custom,  as  a  soldier,  to  make  short  work  of  cut 
throat  she-devils  of  camp-following  buzzards.  So 
she  lay  still,  glaring  and  panting.  Mr.  McKnight 
reentered  the  groggery,  aimed  both  his  pistols  at 
Fenton,  and  told  Dick  to  release  that  worthy  and 
back  out  of  the  place  with  rifle  kept  ready  to  shoot. 
Dick  obeyed,  and  backed  out  side  by  side  with  the 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  AND  BROKEN  HEADS.  85 

minister.  A  minute  later,  the  three  thief-hunters 
were  running  for  their  horses.  They  mounted,  and 
made  their  way  back  to  the  place  where  they  had 
turned  into  the  pines  from  the  road. 

"  And  won't  ye  stand  in  danger  of  retaliation  from 
the  devils  ? "  queried  MacAlister,  as  Mr.  McKnight 
turned  to  take  leave. 

"  I  think  they  were  so  drunk,  and  the  thing  was  so 
quickly  done,  they  did  not  know  me  from  a  stranger 
like  yourselves.  They  would  not  suspect  a  minister 
of  such  work  on  a  Sabbath  day." 

"  Begorra,  if  more  such  work  was  done  by  minis 
ters  on  Sabbath  days,  more  of  the  wicked  would  get 
punishment  in  this  world  !  By  the  Lord,  'twas  a  fine 
illustration  ye  gave  of  the  penalties  that  follow  wrong 
doing,  and  none  the  waur  for  that  ye  thumped  a 
rascal's  head  instead  of  the  pulpit,  and  made  the  way 
of  the  transgressor  hard  instead  of  merely  saying  it 
was." 

"  That's  the  grandest  minister  I  ever  saw,  and  the 
only  sermon  I  never  went  to  sleep  at,"  said  Mac 
Alister  to  Dick,  as  the  two  rode  back  towards  Free 
hold,  Mr.  McKnight  having  taken  his  way  towards 
Shrewsbury  after  a  friendly  farewell  and  a  tender  of 
his  compliments  to  the  young  lady  to  whom  Dick 
was  to  restore  the  miniature. 

That  night  they  slept  at  the  village  where  they 
had  hired  their  horses.  They  had  to  lose  another 


86  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

day  in  waiting  till  the  stage-coach  came  along,  and 
so  it  was  Tuesday  morning  when  they  found  them-, 
selves  again  on  a  "  Flying  Machine  "  bound  for  New 
York.  This  time  MacAlister's  face  was  tied  up  in 
cloths,  the  wound  in  his  cheek  being  not  serious,  but 
vastly  inconvenient  for  the  time  being.  "  Another 
war-scar,  bedad  !  "  quoth  he.  "  A  mark  of  the  battle 
of  Shrewsbury  Pines." 

The  greater  part  of  the  journey  was  dampened  by 
a  series  of  April  showers,  but  when  they  arrived  at 
Paulus  Hook  and  descended  from  the  coach,  the  sun 
reappeared  for  a  brief  display  before  setting.  As 
they  crossed  in  the  ferry  to  New  York,  that  English- 
Dutch-Huguenot  seaport  town,  in  the  midst  of  its 
hills  and  trees,  seemed  to  smile  upon  them.  Look 
ing  out  towards  the  bay,  with  its  backing  of  green 
heights,  Dick  got  his  first  hint  of  the  ocean  beyond, 
and  was  deeply  stirred  thereat.  In  those  days  a 
beach  ran  at  the  foot  of  bluffs  that  were  crowned 
by  gardens  and  other  grounds  behind  the  spacious 
residences  on  the  west  side  of  Broadway.  There 
was  no  commerce  along  the  North  River,  all  the  Dutch 
Hudson  sloops  and  the  New  Jersey  boats  rounding 
the  point  to  make  landing  in  the  East  River.  Dick's 
gaze,  coming  in  from  the  bay,  past  the  green  islands 
close  at  hand,  rested  successively  on  the  fort  whose 
walls  rose  from  sloping  green  banks,  the  governor's 
garden,  the  water  ends  of  crooked  streets,  the  little 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  AND  BROKEN  HEADS.  8/ 

forest  of  masts  in  the  East  River,  the  tiny  village  of 
Brooklyn  nestling  at  the  foot  of  the  heights  on  Long 
Island,  and  finally  on  the  ferry  landing-place,  on 
which  he  and  Tom  presently  set  foot.  On  the 
recommendation  of  a  fellow  passenger  on  the  ferry, 
they  took  lodgings  in  a  small  tavern  near  the  White 
hall  slip.  During  supper  Dick  was  absent-minded 
and  perturbed.  He  was  all  afire  to  return  the  min 
iature  to  Miss  de  St.  Valier.  Tom  advised  him  to  wait 
till  the  next  day,  as  it  was  now  quite  late.  But 
Dick  was  fearful  the  Canadian  party  might  depart 
before  he  could  see  them.  Moreover,  the  prospect 
of  again  beholding  the  entrancing  Catherine  and  re 
ceiving  thanks  from  her  own  lips,  although  a  delicious 
one,  was  also  disquieting,  and  Dick  was  anxious  to 
face  the  interview  at  the  earliest  possible  moment. 
He  therefore  put  himself  and  his  clothes  into  the 
best  possible  appearance,  and,  while  Tom  sought  the 
Coffee  House,  found  the  way  to  the  boarding-house 
in  Queen  Street  at  which  Gerard  de  St.  Valier  had 
told  him  the  party  would  stay.  At  the  door,  where 
he  inquired  with  much  concealed  trepidation,  a  black 
servant  told  him  the  Canadians  had  left.  His  heart 
sank,  but  rose  again  a  moment  later,  when  the  mis 
tress  of  the  house,  Mrs.  Carroll,  having  overheard, 
told  him  the  St.  Valiers  and  Lieutenant  Blagdon 
had  gone  to  the  King's  Arms  Tavern  for  their  last 
night  in  New  York,  intending  to  take  sloop  the  next 


88  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

morning  for  Albany.  It  was  now  dark,  the  street 
lamps  having  been  lighted  for  some  time,  and.  Dick 
decided  that,  after  all,  the  morning  would  be  the 
more  suitable  time  for  approaching  the  Canadians. 
Being  very  tired  and  desiring  to  rise  early,  he  went 
to  bed,  and  dreamt  of  the  eyes  of  Miss  de  St.  Valier. 
The  next  morning  he  made  a  hasty  breakfast,  and 
was  already  on  the  way  to  the  King's  Arms  when  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  might  make  himself  ridic 
ulous  by  intruding  on  the  peerless  Catherine  too 
early.  He  therefore  walked  about  the  town  awhile, 
viewing  the  markets  near  the  East  River ;  then  going 
up  Broad  Street  from  the  Exchange  to  the  City  Hall 
of  that  day ;  then  admiring  the  marble  image  of 
William  Pitt  in  a  Roman  toga,  at  Wall  and  William 
Streets  ;  the  great  dry  goods  shops  in  William  Street, 
up  to  Maiden  Lane  ;  the  fine  broad  red  and  yellow 
brick  residences,  some  with  many  windows,  double- 
pitched  and  tile-covered  roofs,  balustrades  and  gar 
dens,  in  William  Street,  Queen  Street,  Hanover 
Square,  and  elsewhere  :  finally  crossing  to  the  Broad 
way,  and  beholding  the  leaden  statue  of  King  George, 
in  the  Bowling  Green  or  parade-ground  before  the  fort. 
At  last  he  entered  the  King's  Arms,  which  was  next 
but  one  to  the  fine  Kennedy  house  at  the  foot  of  the 
west  side  of  Broadway,  both  facing  the  Bowling 
Green  and  fort.  In  the  public  room  he  saw  Tom, 
who  sat  reading  the  New  York  Gazette,  and  who 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  AND  BROKEN  HEADS.  89 

now  merely  winked  at  him,  being  of  no  mind  to 
figure  with  him  in  the  restoration  of  the  portrait. 
Dick  put  on  a  bold  face  and  asked  the  man  in  charge 
to  announce  him  to  Mr.  and  Miss  de  St.  Valier. 

"  And,  pray,  what  do  you  desire  of  them  ?  "  queried 
an  insolent  voice  at  Dick's  elbow.  He  looked  around 
and  encountered  Lieutenant  Blagdon,  who  stood  eye 
ing  him  with  a  manifest  resentment  that  betrayed  an 
uneasy  divination  of  Dick's  purpose. 

Dick  was  on  the  point  of  answering  hotly,  but 
contented  himself  with  a  defiant  look  and  the  quiet 
reply : 

"  I  wish  to  restore  the  portrait  of  which  Miss  de 
St.  Valier  was  robbed  while  in  your  company  last 
Saturday." 

Blagdon' s  wrath  was  now  mingled  with  chagrin,  at 
the  confirmation  of  his  fear  that  another  had  accom 
plished  for  the  lady  the  task  he  had  not  offered  to 
undertake.  After  a  moment's  pause,  controlling  his 
expression,  he  said  : 

"  Miss  de  St.  Valier  and  her  brother  left  New  York 
yesterday.  As  I  sail  after  them  on  the  next 
Albany  sloop,  you  can  give  me  the  portrait.  I'll 
carry  it  to  them." 

Dick  looked  the  other  in  the  face  for  a  moment  in 
surprise,  then  said,  with  a  contempt  as  genuine  as 
the  lieutenant's  was  affected  : 

"  You  lie,  you  know  they  are  still  here." 


9O  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"  What !  "  gasped  Blagdon,  and  turned  to  an  Irish 
officer  in  whose  company  he  was,  —  for  there  were 
still  a  few  British  troops  in  New  York,  the  last  of 
them  not  leaving  the  barracks  in  Chambers  Street 
for  Boston  until  June  6th.  "By  God,  did  you  hear 
that  ?  "  And  with  great  fury,  Blagdon,  who  was  him 
self  unarmed,  grasped  the  other  officer's  sword,  drew 
it  from  the  sheath,  and  would  have  thrust  it  into 
Dick's  breast,  had  not  the  Pennsylvanian  quickly 
leaped  aside.  Furious  in  turn,  at  so  sudden  and 
violent  an  onslaught,  Dick  caught  the  sword  with 
both  hands  near  the  guard,  wrenched  it  from  Blag 
don,  and  struck  the  latter  heavily  on  the  head  with 
the  hilt.  The  lieutenant  fell,  leaving  a  curse  un 
finished,  and  lay  quite  motionless  on  the  floor. 

After  a  moment,  during  which  every  one  in  the 
room  stood  startled,  the  Irish  officer  stooped  over 
Blagdon,  felt  his  head  and  chest,  and  said,  looking 
up: 

"  He's  done  for !  The  blow  has  killed  him  !  " 

Dick  heard  a  whisper  in  his  ear,  "  Run  for  your 
life,  lad  !  "  and  felt  himself  pushed  aside  by  old  Tom, 
who  gave  no  sign  of  knowing  him,  and  the  seeming 
purpose  of  whose  violent  movement  was  to  get  a  look 
at  the  prostrate  man. 

Mechanically,  as  in  a  dream,  Dick  took  the  hint 
and  sped  out  of  the  tavern.  As  he  issued  forth,  a 
picture  of  the  Bowling  Green  with  its  statue  and 


A  BROKEN  SABBATH  AND  BROKEN  HEADS.  9 1 

locust-trees,  the  green  and  gray  fort  and  the  one 
linden  and  two  apple-trees  that  stood  on  the  city 
side  thereof,  was  imprinted  lastingly  on  his  memory, 
heedless  as  he  was  of  it  at  the  time.  Still  holding 
the  officer's  sword,  and  with  no  course  determined  on, 
he  ran  up  the  Broadway.  He  had  not  gone  far, 
when  he  heard  a  shout  behind  him,  doubtless  from 
some  witness  of  the  blow,  "  Murder  !  Murder  !  Stop 
that  man !  "  On  he  went,  while  the  hue  and  cry 
gathered  behind  him.  Up  the  roughly  paved  Broad 
way,  steering  wide  alike  of  the  house-stoops  at  the 
side  and  the  gutter  in  the  middle,  he  ran.  Once,  as 
he  neared  Trinity  Church,  he  glanced  back.  The 
pursuing  crowd  behind  him  now  looked  a  multitude, 
and  at  its  head,  crying  "  Stop  that  man  !  "  louder 
than  any  other,  but  giving  him  a  quick  gesture  to 
hasten  on,  was  Tom  MacAlister. 


CHAPTER   V. 

FROM    BROADWAY    TO    BUNKER    HILL. 

DESPITE  the  circumstances,  Dick  had  a  brief  feel 
ing  of  mirth  at  the  ludicrous  appearance  of  his  com 
rade,  who  led  the  chase  with  such  well-simulated  zeal 
and  a  face  still  circumscribed  by  the  white  cloth 
used  to  keep  in  place  the  bandage  on  his  cheek. 
Determined  to  resist  capture  to  the  last,  now  that  he 
had  adopted  the  course  of  flight,  Dick  plunged  for 
ward  and  on  past  Trinity  Church.  Broadway  was 
not  then  a  business  street,  and  the  few  people  whom 
Dick  passed  or  who  emerged  from  the  residences  or 
cross  streets  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter 
until  it  was  too  late  to  head  him  off,  so  great  a  start 
he  had  of  his  pursuers.  Before  he  had  reached  St. 
Paul's  Church,  he  looked  back  again,  whereupon 
Tom,  with  his  hand  before  his  body  so  that  the  pur 
suers  behind  him  could  not  see  it,  motioned  to  turn 
off  into  the  next  cross  street.  Dick  obeyed,  and  was 
thus  for  a  time  lost  to  the  sight  of  the  party  in  chase. 
Presently  the  loud  voice  of  Tom  showed  that  he,  too, 
had  deviated  into  the  cross  street.  Dick  turned  his 
head  and  saw  that  Tom  was  the  only  one  who  had 

92 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO   BUNKER   HILL.          93 

yet  done  so.  MacAlister  now  violently  gesticulated 
to  the  effect  that  Dick  should  turn  into  some  yard  or 
other  hiding-place.  Dick  immediately  ran  through 
the  open  gateway  of  what  proved  to  be  a  yard  used 
as  a  repository  for  tan.  He  took  refuge  behind  a 
high  pile  of  this  article,  and  sank  to  the  ground, 
breathless  and  half-exhausted.  There  was  no  one 
else  in  the  tan-yard.  As  he  lay  panting,  he  heard 
Tom  stride  by,  still  hoarsely  bawling,  "  Stop  that 
man  !  "  The  direction  taken  by  the  voice  indicated 
that  its  owner  had  turned  from  this  street  into 
another,  and  soon  the  sound  of  the  crowd  running 
by  was  evidence  that  they  had  seen  Tom  make  this 
last  turn  and  had  supposed  he  was  still  on  the  trail 
of  the  hunted  man.  Their  voices  and  footsteps 
died  out  presently,  and  Dick  was  left  to  ponder  on 
the  situation. 

He  dared  not  venture  out  of  the  yard,  lest  he  be 
seen  by  one  of  those  who  had  engaged  in  the  chase. 
He  knew  that  Tom,  having  led  the  hue  and  cry  on 
a  false  track,  would  at  the  proper  time  come  back 
for  him.  Therefore  he  could  only  wait.  Meanwhile, 
as  he  was  led  to  consider  by  the  approaching  voices 
of  some  boys  at  play,  what  if  he  should  be  discovered 
in  the  tan-yard  ?  Swiftly  choosing  the  remotest  and 
highest  pile  of  tan,  he  crouched  behind  it,  hastily 
scooped  out  a  hole  with  both  hands,  backed  into  this 
extemporized  burrow,  laid  Blagdon's  sword  beside 


94  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

him,  and  then,  with  his  hollowed  palms,  drew  in 
after  him  sufficient  of  the  previously  removed  tan  to 
conceal  himself  from  any  but  the  most  minute  ob 
server.  Thus  buried  in  the  tan,  with  barely  enough 
space  open  about  his  head  to  admit  a  little  dim  light 
and  a  small  quantity  of  dusty  air,  he  made  himself  as 
comfortable  as  might  be.  By  and  by  his  ears  told 
him  that  the  small  boys  had  entered  the  tan-yard  ; 
then  that  they  were  having  a  sham  battle,  'playing 
that  the  tan-pile  next  his  own  was  Ticonderoga. 
History  was  soon  reversed,  and  the  English  drove 
the  French  from  Ticonderoga,  whereupon  the  French 
properly  fell  back  to  Quebec,  which  was  no  other 
place  than  the  tan-pile  in  which  Dick  lay  entombed. 
He  felt  the  tan  shift  above  him,  and  saw  it  slide 
down  before  him  and  cut  off  more  of  his  meagre 
supply  of  light  and  air,  while  the  shouts  of  Quebec's 
defenders  came  to  him  from  overhead.  Finally  the 
English  charged  Quebec  and  tumbled  the  French 
back  from  the  heights,  an  operation  that  resulted  in 
Dick's  having  a  series  of  heavy  weights  alight  on 
his  head,  a  foot  thrust  into  his  eye,  his  opening 
entirely  closed  up,  and  himself  almost  choked. 
Regardless  of  consequences,  he  thrust  his  head  out 
through  the  tan,  and  saw,  to  his  unexpected  joy, 
that  the  last  small  warrior  was  scurrying  away  from 
behind  Quebec.  After  awhile  the  boys  left  the 
tan-yard,  and  Dick  found  some  relief  in  a  change  of 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO  BUNKER  HILL.          95 

position,  though  he  did  not  emerge  from  his  cave. 
Now  and  then,  as  the  day  advanced,  he  could  hear 
steps  and  voices  of  people  passing  the  tan -yard,  and 
would  lie  close  in  fear  that  some  of  them  would  turn 
in.  He  amused  himself  by  imagining  what  would 
follow  should  the  tan  in  which  he  lay  be  loaded  on 
some  cart  or  wagon.  So  passed  an  interminable 
day,  beautiful  outside  with  New  York's  incomparable 
sunshine,  but  to  Dick  an  age  of  numbness  and  pain, 
due  to  his  long  retention  of  each  cramped  position 
he  assumed ;  of  hunger  and  thirst,  of  alarms  and 
conjectures,  and  of  frequent  thoughts  of  the  man  he 
had  felled,  thoughts  which  he  invariably  put  from 
him  in  his  horror  of  regarding  himself  as  a  slayer. 
At  nightfall  he  came  out  of  his  hole,  but  remained 
behind  the  tan-pile,  listening  for  a  familiar  step.  At* 
last  it  came,  cautious  but  unmistakable.  Dick  rose, 
saw  a  gaunt  form  in  the  gateway,  and  bounded 
towards  him. 

"Whist,  lad!"  said  Tom,  grasping  Dick's  of 
fered  hand.  "  Sure  ye  sprung  up  like  a  ghaist. 
The  coast  is  clear  now,  though  eyes  will  be  kept 
open  for  ye  in  the  city  and  about,  for  mony  a  day 
to  come.  Let  us  sit  down  and  wait  a  minute  or  two,, 
till  it  do  be  just  a  wee  bit  darker.  'Twas  a  grand 
chase  I  led  them,  mon,  was  it  not,  now  ?  " 

"'Twas  the  best  trick  I  ever  saw  played.  But 
where  did  you  pass  the  day  ? " 


96  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"Why,"  said  Tom,  as  he  sat  on  a  tan-pile,  "  that's 
just  it.  If  ony  of  them  had  caught  up  wi'  me, 
'twould  have  come  out  sure  what  joke  I'd  played 
them,  for,  ye  see,  they'd  'a'  found  out  I  was  crying 
'  Stop '  at  naething  at  all.  So,  for  your  ain  skin's 
sake,  I  had  to  keep  well  ahead  until  I  had  got  out  of 
the  town,  and  then  lose  myself  frae  the  ither  shout 
ing  devils,  which  I  did  by  turning  into  the  woods  at 
a  bend  of  the  road." 

"  You  had  the  devil's  own  endurance  to  outrun 
them  all,"  put  in  Dick. 

"Why,  ye  see,  when  I  got  near  blowed,  I  found 
ither  legs  than  my  ain  to  help  me  out.  In  front  of 
a  tavern,  ayont  yonder,  a  horse  was  whinneying  as  I 
came  up.  All  I  had  to  do  was  to  jerk  the  knot  of 
'his  halter  and  jump  on,  and  who  could  say  me  nay 
when  it  was  chasing  a  law-breaker  I  was,  in  the  inter 
ests  of  justice  ?  And  that's  how  I  got  away  frae  the 
chasing  mob.  What  was  there  to  do  but  spend  the 
day  in  the  woods,  safe  out  of  sight  and  ken  of  man  ? 
For,  d'ye  mind,  if  I  had  come  back  into  the  town, 
and  gone  to  the  tavern  for  my  clothes,  why,  seeing 
that  news  and  descriptions  must  have  been  all  about 
by  then,  as  word  of  mouth  goes  nowadays,  I'd  have 
been  held  for  complicity  in  your  escape,  and  then 
who'd  have  come  to  let  you  out  of  your  ain  hole,  — 
for  I  ken  you  maun  hae  lodged  in  one  of  them  tan- 
piles  the  day.  Nay,  nay,  lad,  never  thrust  yourself 


FROM  BROADWAY  TO  BUNKER   HILL.          97 

in  the  way  of  forcible  detention ;  that's  a  rule  of 
mine  !  We'll  let  our  shirts  and  blankets  and  guns 
rot  in  the  tavern,  and  gang  on  our  way  rejoicing." 

"  But  Blagdon,  —  do  you  think  he  is  dead  ?  " 

"  Devil  a  bit  !  He'll  have  come  to  before  they 
were  done  chasing  his  murderer,  and  the  time  he'll 
spend  nursing  a  bloody  head  will  enable  him  to 
reflect  on  his  sins.  But,  for  a'  that,  we'll  be  gang 
ing  our  way,  for  murderous  assault  is  nane  sic  a 
pleasant  charge  to  face,  however  innocent  ye  be, 
when  the  other  side  has  money  and  great  friends 
and  ye're  a  penniless  stranger.  Besides  that,  this 
Blagdon  will  have  the  backing  of  the  soldiery  and 
the  lieutenant-governor,  and  the  tavern  people  will 
naturally  swear  to  onything  on  his  side,  even  to 
attempted  robbery  or  the  like.  Come,  Dickie  boy, 
that  sword  ye  retain,  as  your  proper  spoils  of  war, 
is  worth  in  money  all  we  leave  behind  at  the  tavern." 

The  two  friends  went  from  the  tan-yard  and  by 
obscure  streets  to  the  Bowery  lane,  and  followed 
that  till  it  became  the  Boston  highroad,  along  which 
they  then  proceeded  northward  through  the  country. 
When  they  had  passed  a  few  suburban  mansions, 
some  fields  and  swamps  and  wooded  hills,  Tom  said, 
"Whist  a  bit !  "  and  turned  aside  into  a  little  copse. 
In  a  moment  he  emerged,  leading  a  large  horse. 

"  This  will  save  expense  of  transportation,  lad," 
said  he,  as  he  came  into  the  road ;  "  and  moreover  ( 


98  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

'twill  further  compensate  us  for  the  loss  of  our  guns 
and  baggage.  Bedad,  'twas  a  lucky  blow  ye  struck 
that  there  lieutenant,  to  make  me  lead  a  chase  in 
front  of  the  tavern  where  the  good  horse  here  called 
my  attention  by  a  loving  whinney." 

"What?"  cried  Dick.  "You  don't  mean  to  say 
you  are  going  to  keep  the  horse  you  found  at  the 
tavern !  " 

"  And  wha  better  should  keep  him  ?  Do  ye  see 
what  horse  it  is  ?  Lad,  there's  the  hand  of  Provi 
dence  in  all  this  !  -Sure,  your  eyes  ain't  used  to 
starlight  if  ye  couldn't  make  out  auld  Robin  at  the 
first  glance." 

Dick  stood  in  joyful  amazement.  The  horse  was 
indeed  the  one  that  had  disappeared  beneath  the 
self-styled  merchants  with  whom  Dick  and  Tom  had 
agreed  to  ride  and  tie,  on  the  road  to  Lancaster. 
The  comrades  now  went  on  in  the  'darkness,  taking 
turns  at  riding,  but  keeping  together  and  holding 
the  horse  to  a  slow  pace.  Dick  felt  in  his  pocket 
the  miniature  whose  restoration  he  had  failed  to 
effect.  When,  now,  might  he  hope  to  place  it  in 
the  hands  of  the  charming  Canadian  girl  ?  He  put  the 
question,  but  in  other  words,  to  his  companion,  as 
they  rode  by  the  dark  Murray  mansion  and  began 
to  descend  towards  Turtle  Creek. 

"If  there  is  war,"  he  added,  "there's  little  chance 
of  my  getting  to  Quebec  for  many  a  day  to  come." 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO  BUNKER   HILL.          99 

"Don't  presume  to  read  the  future,  lad!"  said 
MacAlister.  "Wha  kens  what  turn  of  the  wind  of 
circumstance  may  blaw  ye  to  Quebec  ?  The  older 
ye  grow  in  the  ways  of  this  precarious  world,  the 
less  ye'll  pretend  to  say  what  to-morrow  will  bring 
forth.  '  He  started  east  and  he  landed  west,'  as  the 
auld  song  says." 

It  was  near  dawn  when  they  passed  the  Blue  Bell 
Tavern,  but,  hungry  and  tired  as  both  were,  Tom 
advised  that  there  be  no  stopping  till  they  should 
have  left  the  island  of  Manhattan  behind.  "When 
ye're  an  auld  hand  at  the  business  of  this  warld," 
said  he,  "ye'll  no  tak'  ae  chance  in  a  hundred,  of 
trusting  yersel',  e'en  for  the  time  being,  in  the  arms 
of  justice.  Law  and  justice,  my  son,  are  fearfu' 
things  for  an  honest  man  to  have  aught  to  do  wi'. 
I'd  rather  trust  my  case  to  the  decision  of  auld  Nick 
himsel',  putting  it  to  him  in  my  ain  way,  man  to 
man,  and  perhaps  over  a  good  glass  of  spirits  or 
two,  than  to  ae  judge  or  jury  in  Christendom." 

Giving  Hyatt's  Tavern  also  the  go  -  by,  they 
crossed  the  Harlem  by  the  Farmers'  Bridge  and 
continued  on  the  Boston  post-road ;  presently  took 
the  left,  where  the  road  forked,  and  so  arrived  be 
times  at  East  Chester,  which  stood  invitingly  in 
its  pleasant  valley,  its  church  tower  and  belfry  rising 
among  the  locust-trees.  At  the  tavern  there  Tom 
casually  threw  off  a  brief  story  to  account  for  having 


IOO  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

ridden  all  night,  and  the  two  speedily  possessed 
themselves  of  a  stiff  drink,  a  hot  breakfast,  and  a 
clean  bed.  In  the  afternoon,  being  anxious  to  get 
out  of  the  province  of  New  York,  lest  some  extraor 
dinary  effort  might  be  made  to  detain  them,  they 
again  took  horse,  passed  through  the  Huguenot 
village  of  New^  Rochelle,  stopped  later  at  Mamaro- 
neck  to  rest  the  horse,  crossed  the  Byram  River  to 
Connecticut  at  evening,  and  put  up,  before  night 
was  well  advanced,  at  Stamford,  which  wound  irreg 
ularly  along  an  undulating  and  stony  road.  When 
they  took  the  road  for  Norwalk  the  next  morning, 
they  were  thoroughly  refreshed,  and  Dick,  having 
got  all  the  tan-dust  out  of  his  ears,  nostrils,  and 
pores,  was  able  to  enjoy  fully  the  beauty  of  Long 
Island  Sound  where  it  was  visible  beyond  the  coves 
that  here  and  there  indented  to  the  road.  That 
day  and  th'e  next  two  days  were  uneventful.  Between 
Norwalk  and  Fairfield  they  met  a  courier  from  the 
Massachusetts  Committee  of  Safety  to  the  Continen 
tal  Congress.  He  tarried  no  longer  than  to  tell 
them  the  New  England  army  was  increasing  daily 
and  holding  the  King's  troops  tight  in  Boston.  At 
Stratford  and  Milford  the  tavern  talk  was  all  of  the 
war ;  of  how  the  Connecticut  troops  already  started 
would  acquit  themselves,  and  how  many  more  would 
be  needed  ;  how  this  village  farmer  or  that  would  be 
have  when  faced  by  a  British  grenadier  ;  of  what  steps 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO   BUNKER   HILL.        IOI 

the  Continental  Congress  would  take,  what  dark  plots 
the  Tories  might  be  weaving  in  New  York,  and  what 
might  occur  should  the  British  war-vessels  bombard 
the  coast  towns. 

In  New  Haven,  which  they  entered  on  a  bright, 
sunny  forenoon,  a  newly  formed  company  was  awk 
wardly  drilling  on  the  green,  in  sight  of  the  churches 
and  the  college  building.  While  the  horse  rested, 
Dick  got  into  conversation  with  a  young  gentleman 
who  stood  watching  the  crude  manoeuvres.  Learn 
ing  that  he  was  Mr.  Timothy  Dwight,  a  tutor -at  the 
college,  Dick  obtained  the  favor  of  a  view  of  the 
college  library,  and  had  the  delightful  sensation  of 
handling  copies  of  Newton's  works  and  Sir  Richard 
Steele's,  presented  by  those  authors  themselves. 
The  scenes  of  military  preparation  witnessed  here 
and  at  Brentford  increased  Dick's  eagerness  to  be 
at  the  scene  of  action.  Riding  on  Sunday  through 
Seabrooke  and  to  New  London,  he  and  Tom  had 
difficulty,  by  reason  of  the  strict  observance  of  the 
day,  in  obtaining  tavern  accommodations.  But,  as 
Tom  remarked,  the  rule  of  not  letting  the  left  hand 
know  what  the  right  one  does  may  work  both  ways 
and  concern  the  receiving  as  well  as  the  giving  of 
money,  and  their  coin  at  last  found  takers.  At  New 
London,  where  the  New  York  and  Boston  stage 
coach  was  resting  over  Sunday,  they  learned  from 
its  passengers  that  both  the  British  and  the  provin- 


102  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

cials  had  barriers  on  Boston  Neck,  that  the  pro 
vincials  barred  Charlestown  Neck  as  well,  and  that 
no  one  could  come  out  of  Boston  without  a  pass 
from  General  Gage,  while  the  American  army  al 
lowed  no  one  to  enter  Boston  without  a  permit. 
The  Connecticut  Gazette  was  full  of  war  tidings. 
All  these  signs  of  the  times  made  Dick  glow  with 
delightful  anticipation.  The  two  comrades  crossed 
the  Thames,  by  ferry,  to  Groton,  the  next  morning, 
and  in  the  forenoon  they  passed  by  fair  green  slopes 
and  blossoming  orchards  to  the  village  of  Stonington, 
which  lay  drowsily  on  a  point  of  land  that  jutted  out 
into  a  beautifully  surrounded  bay. 

While  they  drank  a  pot  of  ale  together  at  the 
tavern,  they  left  the  horse  Robin  tied  by  the  trough 
in  the  roadway,  where  he  was  viewed  with  some 
admiration  by  two  or  three  villagers  and  a  well- 
dressed  gentleman  who  appeared  to  be  a  stranger 
in  the  place.  Drinking  rum  and  water,  near  Mac- 
Alister  and  Dick,  sat  a  sea-captain,  who,  after 
overhearing  a  part  of  their  talk,  asked  them  why, 
inasmuch  as  they  were  in  haste  to  reach  Cambridge, 
they  did  not  take  passage  on  his  schooner,  which  was 
about  to  sail  that  afternoon  and  would  land  at  some 
port  near  Boston  within  the  territory  under  the  pro 
vincials'  control.  Not  waiting  for  their  answer,  he 
asked  them  to  drink  with  him,  toasted  the  Conti 
nental  Congress  so  heartily,  damned  the  King  and 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO  BUNKER   HILL.        103 

Parliament  so  valiantly,  and  proved  so  stout  a  patriot 
and  jolly  companion,  that  Dick,  allured  also  by  the 
prospect  of  a  sea-voyage,  soon  declared  that  for  his 
part  he  would  prefer  going  by  the  schooner,  and 
Tom  offered  no  objection.  When  the  bargain  had 
been  made,  a  mild,  pale-eyed  old  farmer  came  in, 
called  Tom  and  Dick  aside,  and  asked  if  they  would 
sell  him  their  horse,  or  trade  it  for  another,  as  he 
was  in  need  of  just  such  an  animal  for  his  farm  work. 
He  made  so  good  an  offer  that  Tom,  foreseeing  little 
use  for  the  horse  on  his  joining  the  army,  consented 
after  very  little  haggling ;  whereupon  the  farmer 
went  home  to  get  the  coin  from  his  strong-box. 

"Whist !  "  said  Tom  to  Dick,  with  sparkling  eyes 
and  a  grim  smile.  "  'Tis  the  intervention  of  Provi 
dence  again.  No  sooner  do  we  plan  to  go  by  sea 
than  this  honest  farmer  offers  to  take  our  horse  off 
our  hands,  and  names  a  price  I'd  nae  be  sic  a  fool  to 
ask,  mysel'.  'Tis  a  sin  and  shame  to  profit  by  sic 
innocence ! " 

They  rejoined  the  sea-captain,  whose  convivial 
society  made  time  so  rapid  that  the  farmer  was 
soon  back  with  the  money,  which  he  emptied  from 
a  stocking  to  the  table.  Tom  rattled  each  piece  and 
found  it  good,  then  went  out  and  untied  the  horse 
and  placed  the  halter  in  the  farmer's  hands,  —  saddle 
and  bridle  having  gone  into  the  bargain.  Tom  then 
returned  to  the  tavern,  where  he  and  Dick  had  din- 


104  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

ner  with  the  sea-captain.  When,  after  dinner,  all 
three  set  forth  to  go  aboard  the  schooner,  they  saw 
the  horse  Robin  being  ridden  up  and  down  the  road 
by  the  well-dressed  strange  gentleman,  who  was  ap 
parently  trying  the  animal.  The  sea-captain  saluted 
the  rider  as  an  acquaintance  and  asked  him  when  he 
was  going  back  to  Providence.  In  the  short  conver 
sation  that  ensued,  it  came  out  that  the  gentleman 
had  just  bought  the  horse  from  the  farmer  who  had 
owned  him.  "  When  I  came  here  this  morning,  I 
had  no  intention  of  buying  a  horse,  though  I  really 
needed  one,"  the  gentleman  added.  "  I  saw  this 
beast  in  front  of  the  tavern  yonder,  and  said  to  the 
farmer,  who  I  didn't  then  know  was  the  owner,  that 
I  would  give  so  much  for  it.  I  went  about  my  busi 
ness  then,  and  when  I  got  back,  there  was  the 
owner,  offering  me  the  horse  at  the  price  I  had 
named." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,"  queried  Tom  MacAlister, 
with  a  queer  look,  "  might  I  inquire  without  offence 
what  that  price  was  ? " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  Providence  gentleman, 
and  he  mentioned  an  amount  once  and  a  half  as 
large  as  that  for  which  the  innocent  farmer  had 
bought  the  horse  from  Tom. 

Dick  looked  up  at  the  sky,  while  MacAlister 
heaved  a  deep  sigh,  shook  his  head  dismally,  and 
walked  towards  the  schooner. 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO  BUNKER   HILL.        1 05 

It  was  already  laden,  and  the  crew  were  busy  with 
ropes  and  sails,  under  the  direction  of  the  mate. 
The  gentle  lap  of  the  waves,  the  creak  of  the  tim 
bers,  the  straining  of  the  ropes,  and  the  flapping  of 
canvas,  had  their  due  effect  on  Dick  in  the  lazy, 
sunny  afternoon.  When  they  had  cast  off,  and  the 
little  wharf  and  still  town  and  green  slopes  swiftly 
receded,  while  the  creaking  schooner  sped  under  a 
light  wind  towards  the  open  ocean,  Dick  felt  as  in 
a  kind  of  joyous  dream.  When  that  green  cape,  the 
"Watch  Hill"  of  the  Indians,  in  fact  and  name,  had 
been  some  time  passed,  the  wind  changed  both  in 
quarter  and  force,  and  the  mate  opined  possible 
sudden  bad  weather  from  the  east.  Dick  felt  inward 
threats  of  seasickness,  but  repressed  them.  Tom, 
the  piper's  son,  showed  no  sign  of  the  slightest 
qualm.  At  nightfall,  having  feasted  his  stomach 
with  fresh-caught  codfish,  for  he  had  promptly  taken 
ori  a  sea  appetite,  and  his  eyes  on  the  far-reaching 
billows,  Dick  retired  with  Tom  to  a  bunk  beneath 
the  hatches,  and  soon  slept.  When  he  awoke,  he 
was  in  pitchy  darkness. 

"Whist !  "  said  a  voice  in  his  ear.  "What  do  ye 
think,  lad  ?  For  why  did  I  pinch  ye  then  ?  Because, 
sticking  my  head  out  the  hatchway  for  a  taste  of  air, 
I  heard  the  rascal  captain  prattling  with  the  scoun 
drel  mate.  This  vessel's  bound  straight  for  Boston, 
lad,  and  their  cursed  intention  is  to  hand  us  ower  to 


IO6  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

General  Gage  for  a  pair  of  treasonable  rebels  !  How 
d'ye  like  that,  now  ?  " 

"  Let's  scuttle  his  damned  vessel  first ! "  quoth 
Dick. 

"  Softly,  Dickie  boy  !  Aiblins  it  'ull  come  to  that, 
and  aiblins  we'll  find  ither  means.  Devil  a  bit  let 
him  know  we've  spied  their  dirty  trick,  mind  !  Provi 
dence  is  mostly  our  friend,  —  saving  in  the  matter  of 
horses." 

So  the  two  kept  their  own  counsel.  Going  on 
deck  at  dawn,  they  found  the  captain  so  sharing  the 
mate's  fears  of  a  bad  blow, -that  he  had  decided  to  put 
back  to  Block  Island.  MacAlister  sent  Dick  the 
faintest  hint  of  a  wink.  When  the  old  harbor  in 
the  east  side  of  that  green  rolling  island  whose  Indian 
name  was  Manisses  was  made,  MacAlister  said  he 
and  his  friend  would  like  to  go  ashore  to  stretch 
their  legs  a  bit.  The  captain,  doubtless  deeming  it 
not  yet  wise  to  arouse  their  suspicions,  called  a  fisher 
man's  boat,  which  landed  them  from  the  schooner's 
place  of  anchorage.  They  walked  up  from  the  land 
ing  to  some  fishermen's  shingle  houses,  well  back 
from  the  beach,  and  speedily  closed  a  bargain  with  a 
sea-browned  islander  to  take  them  to  the  mainland 
in  his  smack. 

The  fisherman,  allured  by  the  large  price  offered, 
and  having  less  to  risk  than  the  captain  of  the  laden 
schooner,  promptly  embarked,  under  the  astonished 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO   BUNKER   HILL.        IO? 

eyes  of  the  anchored  captain,  whom  Tom  gravely 
saluted  by  placing  thumb  to  nose  and  wiggling  his 
fingers.  The  captain  replied  by  vociferously  hoping 
to  God  the  gale  would  blow  the  two  travellers  to 
hell.  The  gale,  however,  continued  to  remain  in 
abeyance,  though  the  sky  was  filled  with  clouds 
and  the  sea  had  an  unaccountable  choppy  look  and 
feel.  Tom,  having  questioned  the  fisherman  regard 
ing  localities,  now  proposed  that  the  latter  should 
take  them  to  Newport,  and  doubled  his  offer  of  pay. 
Induced  by  greed  and  by  the  confidence  born  of  pre 
vious  good  luck  in  all  weathers  at  sea,  the  islander 
consented,  regardless  of  the  capricious  behavior  of 
his  sail  and  the  sudden  ominous  quiverings  of  his 
boat.  Yet  the  storm  held  off. 

Making  clever  use  of  the  wind  when  it  was  brisk, 
the  skipper  had  his  boat  at  evening  off  the  precipi 
tous  southern  coast  of  the  island  on  which  Newport 
lies.  As  he  was  about  to  tack,  in  order  to  round  the 
point  and  so  reach  the  town,  which  then  occupied 
only  a  spot  on  the  island's  western  side,  the  storm 
came,  almost  without  a  moment's  warning,  and  bring 
ing  with  it  a  pelting  deluge  of  rain.  Before  the 
mariner  could  regain  any  kind  of  mastery  of  his  little 
craft,  it  had  been  dashed  close  to  the  corrugated  land. 
Dick  and  Tom  escaped  being  thrown  out  of  the  boat 
only  by  grasping  its  timbers  and  holding  on  with  all 
strength.  The  vessel  was  tossed  about,  for  a  time,  like 


I'O8  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

a  cork.  Once  it  seemed  in  the  act  of  hurling  itself 
into  a  gaping  chasm  which  rent  the  rough  sea-wall 
from  the  height  of  forty  feet  to  unknown  depths,  — 
a  cleft  as  wide  as  a  man  is  tall,  and  cut  back  into  the 
land  a.  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  But  the  boat  fell 
short  of  these  grinning  jaws  and  in  another  minute 
was  far  away  from  them. 

From  the  time  when  the  storm  first  broke  upon 
them  to  the  time  when,  by  some  strange  freak  of 
wind  and  sea,  the  smack  was  riding  in  a  broad  bay 
east  of  the  threatening  sea-wall,  —  a  direction  there 
from  exactly  opposite  to  that  which  the  elements 
seemingly  ought  to  have  borne  it,  —  no  one  aboard 
spoke  a  word.  But  now  the  skipper,  whose  nasal 
voice  and  distinct  New  England  enunciation  easily 
cut  through  the  tumult  of  wind  and  water,  briefly 
expressed  his  intention  of  letting  the  sea  carry  the 
boat  straight  towards  the  smooth  beach  ahead, 
there  being  one  chance  of  safety  therein.  Tom 
and  Dick  awaited  the  issue  with  more  of  curi 
osity  than  of  aught  else,  MacAlister  looking  ex 
ceedingly  grim,  as  always  in  times  of  peril,  and 
Dick,  as  always  in  similar  times,  wearing  a  kind 
of  droll  smile,  as  if  the  joke  were  on  his  courage  for 
having  got  into  such  a  plight.  Before  cither's  senses 
had  caught  up  to  the  passing  occurrence,  there  was  a 
sudden  tremendous  shock  underneath  them,  a  grind 
ing  through  some  gritty  yielding  substance,  a  rolling 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO  BUNKER  HILL.        IOQ 

away  of  the  sea  from  the  nearly  overturned  boat ; 
and  they  found  themselves  high  on  the  beach,  out 
of  reach  of  the  next  wave,  that  rushed  angrily  in  as 
if  to  clutch  them  back  again. 

"  'Twas  the  big  brother  did  it,"  shouted  the  skip 
per,  starting  to  draw  his  craft  farther  up  on  the 
beach,  and  motioning  for  the  aid  of  the  others. 

"  What's  the  big  brother  ?  "  shouted  Dick. 

"The  third  wave.  It  be  always  the  highest.  We'll 
make  the  rest  of  the  voyage  to  Newport  in  these  here 
craft,"  and  he  pointed  down  to  his  boots. 

They  moved  off  through  the  rain  accordingly,  and, 
after  a  walk  of  a  mile  and  a  half,  arrived  at  the  town, 
then  a  busy  seaport  with  a  goodly  commerce  and  a 
lively  trade  to  the  African  coast.  "  For  a  cold  wet 
ting  outside,  a  hot  wetting  inside,"  said  Tom,  heading 
for  the  first  tavern  sign ;  and  the  three  rain-soaked 
voyagers  promptly  put  his  prescription  to  the  test, 
taking  it  in  the  shape  of  a  steaming  punch  of  kill- 
devil,  and  looking  the  while  through  the  tavern  win 
dows  at  the  rain  pouring  down  upon  the  wharves  and 
the  vessels  safe  in  harbor. 

Next  day's  weather  deterred  the  two  travellers 
from  taking  the  sloop  through  Narragansett  Bay 
for  Providence,  but  they  arrived  at  that  town  on 
the  1 8th,  and  lodged  in  a  tavern  in  the  street  that 
ran  at  the  hill's  foot  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 
Cove,  occupying  a  room  that  looked  up  towards 


I  10  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

the  street  crossing  the  hillside  and  towards  the 
college  on  the  summit  beyond.  Leaving  Provi 
dence  the  next  day,  and  going  afoot  with  a  newly 
recruited  body  of  troops  bound  for  the  provincial 
camp  outside  Boston,  they  passed  through  Attle- 
boro  and  other  places  where  the  signs  of  war's 
proximity  were  increasingly  plentiful,  lodged  for  the 
night  at  Walpole,  and  on  the  evening  of  May  2Oth 
reached  the  outskirts  of  the  camp  of  Rhode  Island 
troops  at  Jamaica  Plain. 

Dick  thrilled  as  his  eyes  ranged  over  the  field 
dotted  with  tents,  and  as  they  rested  on  the 
muskets  and  cannon,  —  for  the  Rhode  Island 
men  had  a  train  of  artillery,  and  were  well 
equipped,  though  as  yet  an  insubordinate  lot. 
Wishing  to  be  nearer  the  heart  of  affairs,  Dick 
hastened  on  to  Roxbury,  followed  by  the  unobject- 
ing  MacAlister,  and  there  found  several  Massa 
chusetts  and  Connecticut  regiments  quartered  in 
tents,  log  and  earth  huts,  barns,  taverns,  and  pri 
vate  houses.  So  well  did  MacAlister  know  what 
steps  to  take,  that  on  the  following  Monday  the 
two  were  accepted  as  volunteers,  and  quartered 
with  Maxwell's  company  in  Prescott's  regiment ; 
were  comfortably  lodged  in  a  dispossessed  horse's 
stall,  and  had  traded  off  Dick's  Irish  officer's  sword 
for  a  fiddle,  with  two  fowling-pieces  thrown  into  the 
bargain. 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO   BUNKER  HILL.        Ill 

On  the  previous  day,  Sunday,  which  was  the  day 
after  that  of  the  arrival  of  Dick  and  Tom,  a  vessel 
had  taken  some  British  troops  to  Grape  Island,  in 
Boston  Harbor,  to  get  the  hay  there  stored.  An 
alarm  of  bells  and  guns  had  brought  out  the  people 
of  Weymouth,  Hingham,  and  other  towns,  and  they 
had  landed  on  the  island  with  three  companies  sent 
by  General  Thomas  from  Roxbury,  driven  the  British 
away,  burnt  the  hay,  and  taken  off  a  number  of  cattle. 
This  un-Sabbath-like  exploit  was  the  talk  of  the 
camp  on  Monday,  and  Dick  deplored  his  not 
having  heard  of  it  in  time  to  have  sought  a  part 
in  it. 

Captain  Maxwell's  men  proved  excellent  hosts,  and, 
though  not  on  its  rolls,  Dick  and  Tom  shared  the 
company's  service  and  experiences  in  every  way. 
Colonel  Prescott's  regiment  was  soon  ordered  to  Cam 
bridge,  where  was  stationed  the  centre  of  the  New 
England  army,  consisting  of  fifteen  Massachusetts 
and  several  Connecticut  regiments,  one  of  the  latter 
being  .General  Putnam's.  Here  were  the  headquar 
ters  of  General  Ward,  the  commander-in-chief,  in  a 
fine  wooden  residence  near  Harvard  College,  and 
here  was  Colonel  Gridley,  the  chief  engineer,  with 
most  of  the  artillery.  Here  were  also  most  of  the 
Yankees'  fortifications,  these  being  yet  in  process  of 
construction,  and  consisting  mainly  of  breastworks 
in  Cambridge  and  on  the  road  near  the  base  of  Pros- 


I  1 2  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

pect  Hill.  Further  north  and  northeast  was  the 
army's  left  wing,  consisting  mainly  of  Colonels  Stark's 
and  Reed's  New  Hampshire  regiments,  and  stationed 
at  Medford,  Chelsea,  and  near  Charlestown  Neck. 

It  was  the  lot  of  Dick  and  MacAlister,  as  partici 
pants  in  the  fortunes  of  Maxwell's  company,  to 
occupy  part  of  a  log  hut  near  Cambridge  Common 
and  in  sight  of  the  college,  and  to  have  no  share  in  the 
enterprises  of  May  2/th  and  3Oth,  in  which  American 
detachments  went  to  Noddle's  Island,  near  Chelsea, 
and  drove  off  sheep,  cattle,  and  horses,  on  the  first 
occasion  killing  and  wounding  several  British  marines 
and  capturing  twelve  swivels  and  four  four-pounders 
from  a  British  schooner.  There  was  a  skilful  re 
moval  of  sheep  and  cattle  from  Pettick's  Island  also, 
on  May  3  ist ;  and  on  the  night  of  June  2d  Major  Grea- 
ton  took  from  Deer  Island  eight  hundred  sheep  and 
a  lot  of  cattle,  and  captured  a  man-of-war's  barge 
and  four  or  five  prisoners.  Dick  pined  and  chafed 
that  circumstance  kept  him  out  of  all  these  interest 
ing  proceedings,  but  Tom  the  Fiddler  (a  name 
promptly  bestowed  on  him  by  Prescott's  men)  con 
soled  him  with  many  a  "  Whist,  man,  bide  a  wee ; 
there'll  be  bigger  business  a-brewing  !  " 

So  Dick  bided,  with  eager  anticipations,  although, 
in  his  inexperience,  heeding  the  grumbling  of  others, 
he  thought  the  conviviality  between  certain  Ameri 
can  and  British  officers  on  the  man-of-war  Lively,  on 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO  BUNKER  HILL.        113 

the  occasion  of  an  exchange  of  prisoners,  June  6th, 
did  not  look  much  like  war.  He  was  better  pleased 
at  the  derision  with  which  the  raw  troops  received 
General  Gage's  proclamation  of  June  I2th,  which 
somehow  promptly  found  its  way  into  camp.  In  that 
document  the  British  commander  pronounced  those 
in  arms  and  their  abettors  to  be  rebels  and  traitors, 
and  offered  pardon  to  such  as  should  lay  down  their 
arms,  excepting  Samuel  Adams  and  John  Hancock. 
Continually  there  came  exciting  rumors  that  the 
British  intended  to  sally  out  of  Boston  to  attack 
their  besiegers.  But  Dick  did  not  know  what  the 
American  commanders  knew,  on  June  1 3th,  —  that 
General  Gage  intended  to  take  possession  of  Dor 
chester  Heights  on  the  1 8th  ;  hence  it  was  with  sur 
prise  and  a  keen  thrill  that,  on  Friday  evening,  the 
1 6th,  he  obeyed  the  order  to  fall  in,  and  marched 
beside  MacAlister  with  the  company  to  Cambridge 
Common. 

There  he  found  that  Maxwell's  men  were  part 
of  a  detachment  which  included  other  companies  of 
Prescott's  regiment,  a  part  of  Bridge's,  a  part  of 
Frye's,  and  a  number  of  Connecticut  troops  under 
Captain  Knowlton,  of  Putnam's  regiment.  There 
was  also  some  artillery,  with  Colonel  Gridley  himself. 
And  there  stood  the  tall,  powerful  figure  of  Colonel 
Prescott,  wearing  a  long  blue  coat,  his  strong,  stern 
face  shaded  by  the  slightly  turned  up  brim  of  a  great 


114  TIfE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

round  hat.  The  air  was  charged  with  expectation, 
with  a  sense  of  great  events  at  hand.  The  force 
paraded  on  the  Common,  and  then  stood  with  heads 
bared  and  hands  resting  on  the  guns,  while  a  ven 
erable-looking  gentleman,  whom  a  whispering  com 
rade  named  to  Dick  as  President  Langdon  of  Harvard 
College,  raised  his  hand  heavenward  and  uttered  a 
tremulous  prayer  for  the  aid  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts. 
There  was  a  period  of  waiting,  during  which  the 
colonel  consulted  quietly  with  Gridley  and  the  other 
officers,  while  the  suppressed  excitement  of  the  men 
made  some  appear  moody  and  abstracted,  some  ner 
vous  and  sharp  in  their  whispered  speeches,  others 
extraordinarily  calm  in  tone, ,  others  oddly  jocular. 
Dick  was  one  of  the  last,  in  mood  and  countenance, 
but  was  so  filled  with  emotion  that  he  dared  not 
trust  himself  to  speak.  Tom  was  placidly  grim  and 
patient,  keeping  his  wits  about  him  and  exhibiting 
no  change  in  tone  or  manner.  The  fallen  darkness 
gave  the  human  figures,  the  distant  trees  and  scat 
tered  houses,  the  rolling  landscape,  a  mysterious 
look.  At  last,  at  nine  o'clock,  in  low,  quick  tone, 
the  order  was  given  to  march. 

First  went  two  sergeants,  carrying  dark  lanterns  ; 
then  strode  Colonel  Prescott,  at  the  head  of  the 
detachment.  Behind  the  infantry  and  the  cannon, 
the  shovels  and  other  tools  were  borne,  with  which 
to  make  entrenchments.  Keeping  strict  silence,  as 


FROM  BROADWAY   TO   BUNKER   HILL.        11$ 

they  had  been  ordered,  the  men  trailed  past  Inman's 
Woods,  Prospect  Hill,  and  Cobble  Hill,  crossed  a  level 
space  (another  common),  and  halted  at  Charles- 
town  Neck.  Here,  in  the  darkness,  General  Putnam 
rode  up,  and  they  were  joined  by  other  officers 
also. 

Presently  Captain  Nutting's  company  and  a  few 
Connecticut  men  separated  from  the  detachment 
and  marched  to  the  lower  part  of  Charlestown,  to  act 
there  as  a  guard.  The  main  force  was  soon  on  the 
march  again,  and  followed  the  road  over  a  smooth 
round  hill  (the  real  Bunker's  Hill),  at  the  base  of 
which  it  halted  again.  Prescott  gathered  the  officers 
around  him,  and  quietly  made  known  the  orders  he 
had  come  to  carry  out.  Watching  the  group  alertly, 
Dick  saw  the  officers  look  or  point,  now  at  the  hill 
just  crossed,  now  at  the  hill  ahead,  as  if  discussing 
which  to  use  for  the  purpose  in  hand.  Finally  the 
men  were  marched  to  the  hill  ahead,  from  which 
Boston  on  its  hills  and  hillsides  could  be  seen  sleep 
ing,  across  the  wide  mouth  of  the  Charles  River. 

As  soon  as  the  men  halted,  Colonel  Gridley  began 
to  move  rapidly  about  the  summit  of  the  hill,  mark 
ing  out  lines  and  angles  in  the  earth  as  he  did  so. 
Guns  were  stacked  by  all  but  certain  designated 
men,  of  whom  Dick  and  Tom  were  two,  who  re 
mained  under  arms.  Spades  were  distributed  to  the 
others,  who  were  soon  turning  up  the  earth  along 


Il6  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

the  lines  traced  by  Colonel  Gridley.  As  General 
Putnam  started  to  ride  back  over  the  road  they  had 
followed,  Captain  Maxwell  received  an  order  from 
Colonel  Prescott,  and  in  turn  gave  the  word  of 
march  to  a  party  of  his  men,  in  which  were  numbered 
Dick  and  Tom. 

This  little  force  followed  the  captain  down  into 
Charlestown,  whose  commodious  houses  among  the 
trees  were  now  deserted.  When  the  party  neared 
the  Old  Ferry,  which  led  to  Boston,  the  men  were 
assigned  to  different  posts  along  the  shore,  to  watch 
the  motions  of  the  enemy,  on  their  men-of-war  in  the 
river  and  in  Boston  opposite,  during  the  night. 
With  what  delicious  feelings  did  Dick  pace  the  shore, 
to  the  sound  of  the  lapping  water,  in  sight  of  the 
dark  looming  vessels  of  the  foe,  in  hearing  of  the 
British  sentinel's  voice  who  passed  the  "  All's  well " 
on  to  his  comrade !  Twice  during  the  night  Colo 
nel  Prescott  came  down  with  another  officer  to  see 
what  might  be  seen  from  the  shore.  It  was  almost 
dawn  when  Tom  and  Dick  were  marched  back  to 
the  hill,  where  the  men  had  been  doing  beaver  work 
in  the  night. 

A  great  change  had  been  made  in  the  appearance 
of  the  hill.  Mounds  of  earth  six  feet  high  now 
enclosed  the  crest  on  three  sides  and  most  of  the 
fourth.  A  rough  breastwork  had  been  thrown  up 
as  if  in  continuation  of  one  of  the  sides  of  this  re- 


FROM  BROADWAY  TO  BUNKER  HILL.        II J 

doubt.  On  the  inner  side  of  these  works  rough  plat 
forms  of  wood  and  earth  were  being  made,  and  Dick 
and  Tom  were  now  assigned  to  aid  in  this  duty,  the 
rule  of  the  night  having  been  that  men  should  dig 
and  mount  guard  alternately.  Dawn  came,  calm  and 
clear,  while  the  men  were  working  at  the  spades. 
As  both  mounted  a  pile  of  earth,  to  level  it,  Dick 
took  the  opportunity  to  look  down  over  the  parapet, 
towards  Boston.  At  that  instant  there  came  a  flash 
of  fire  and  a  belch  of  smoke  from  the  port-hole  of  a 
vessel  in  the  river,  a  sullen  boom,  and  a  spattering  of 
earth  and  dust  in  the  near  hillside. 

"  Bedad,"  said  old  Tom,  looking  down  towards  the 
man-of-war,  "that  vessel's  called  the  Lively ;  and 
frae  the  way  she  says  good  morning  I'm  thinking 
we're  like  to  have  a  lively  day  of  it ! " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    WIND    OF    CIRCUMSTANCE. 

IT  was  a  fine,  clear  morning,  promising  a  hot 
day.  Looking  across  the  earthwork,  Dick  could 
see  people  on  the  housetops  and  hills  of  Boston  and 
the  near-by  country,  attracted  by  the  sound 'of  the 
Lively  s  firing  and  by  the  news  that  the  Yankees 
had  fortified  the  hill.  Dick  and  MacAlister  were 
presently  relieved,  whereupon  they  rested  at  their 
rifles,  while  others  went  on  working  at  the  platforms. 
The  firing  from  the  river  ceased,  but  the  calm  which 
followed  was  so  like  that  which  precedes  a  storm, 
that  Dick  was  not  even  startled  at  the  louder  boom 
ing  that  soon  arose,  from  a  hill-battery  in  Boston  as 
well  as  from  the  war-vessels  in  the  river.  The  men 
around  Dick  made  jokes  about  the  enemy's  fire, 
and  about  what  fate  might  befall  one  another  within 
a  few  hours.  The  prevalent  spirit  accorded  with  the 
half  tragic,  half  comical  feeling  that  thrilled  Dick's 
breast  and  showed  in  his  face. 

There  came  a  slight  shock  and  a  general  sensation 
when  the  word  went  around  that  one  of  the  British 

1 18 


THE    WIND    OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  I  19 

cannon  balls  had  struck  and  killed  Asa  Pollard,  of 
Stickney's  company  in  Bridge's  regiment ;  and  there 
followed  some  ado  over  the  matter  of  his  burial,  (Colo 
nel  Prescott  commanding  that  he  be  buried  imme 
diately,  a  chaplain  insisting  on  performing  a  service 
over  the  body,  and  Prescott  thereupon  ordering 
dispersed  the  crowd  of  men  that  gathered  to  hear 
the  service.  At  this  a  number  of  men  rebelliously 
left  the  hill.  To  shame  the  timid  and  encourage  the 
brave,  Prescott  stepped  to  the  top  of  the  parapet 
and  walked  calmly  around  thereupon,  coolly  giving 
orders,  in  perfect  heedlessness  of  the  balls  that  plowed 
the  hillside  near  at  hand.  A  captain  did  likewise, 
and  thereupon  the  men  took  to  cheering  defiantly  at 
each  notable  specimen  of  British  marksmanship. 

Keyed  up  to  the  pitch  of  recklessness,  the  men 
could  laugh  at  the  British  fire,  but  the  intense  heat 
of  the  sun,  the  fatigue  of  their  labors,  and  the 
hunger  and  thirst  due  to  the  neglect  of  many  to 
bring  provisions,  were  foes  not  as  easily  disdained. 
Thanks  to  Dick's  respect  for  orders,  and  to  Tom's 
wisdom  of  experience,  these  two  had  enough  to  eat 
and  drink ;  but  many,  as  they  perspired  or  lay 
exhausted,  growled  or  cursed,  and  thought  war  a 
useless,  uncomfortable  business. 

During  the  morning,  while  the  men  worked  with 
the  spades,  or  waited  idly  and  wondered  when,  if 
ever,  their  first  shot  would  be  fired,  there  were 


120  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

frequent  consultations  of  the  officers,  frequent  des- 
patchings  of  messengers  from  the  hill,  or  from  one 
part  of  the  hill  to'  another,  frequent  signs  that 
seemed  to  promise  action  but  brought  none.  There 
was  a  moment  of  interest  for  Dick  when  he  became 
aware,  first  by  sound,  and  then  by  sight,  that  the 
cannon  in  a  corner  of  the  redoubt  had  begun  to 
reply  to  the  British  fire,  which  had  gained  in  sever 
ity  and  in  the  number  of  its  sources. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  the  men  were  ordered  to 
cease  work  on  the  entrenchments,  and  their  tools 
were  piled  in  the  rear.  General  Putnam  now  rode 
up,  evidently  from  Cambridge,  and  had  some  dis 
cussion  with  Prescott,  and,  apparently  as  a  result 
thereof,  a  large  party  took  up  the  tools  and  started 
off  towards  Charlestown  Neck.  Some  of  this  party 
stopped  at  the  next  hill,  to  which  Putnam  rode,  and 
there  they  began  to  throw  up  breastworks  under 
his  orders.  Thus  the  morning  passed,  in  tedious 
expectancy. 

The  burning  noon  found  Dick  and  Tom  again  at 
the  parapet,  which  was  now  manned  with  waiting 
musket-men.  Dick's  wandering  gaze  rested  on  two 
war-ships  that  were  moving  up  the  river  towards 
those  already  firing.  "  Begorra,  there's  a  thing  or 
two  doing,  yonder  in  the  town,"  said  MacAlister, 
with  a  slight  revival  from  a  tone  of  languor.  Dick 
looked  across  to  Boston.  Through  some  streets  and 


THE    WIND   OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  121 

towards  the  wharves,  trailed  a  long,  wide  line  of 
scarlet,  flashing  at  countless  points  where  the  sun 
light  fell  on  polished  metal.  The  line  was  of  British 
regiments,  doubtless  coming  to  attack  the  Yankee 
redoubt. 

An  oppressive  silence  fell  for  a  moment  on  Dick 
and  all  his  comrades,  while  their  eyes  glistened ; 
then,  simultaneously,  they  raised  a  wild,  half  hys 
terical  cheer,  and  many  a  man  grasped  his  weapon 
tighter,  and  sent  towards  the  scarlet  line  afar  an 
unconscious  smile  of  defiant  welcome. 

The  thunder  of  the  British  batteries  and  ships  all 
at  once  swelled  to  tremendous  volume.  The  fields 
by  the  river,  below  the  redoubt,  were  deluged  with 
cannon-shot.  "To  hinder  us  frae  ganging  doon  to 
stop  their  landing,"  explained  MacAlister  to  Dick. 
Scarlet  troops  could  be  seen  moving  in  Boston 
towards  different  wharves,  from  which  at  last  they 
crowded  into  barges,  a  few  of  them  hauling  field- 
pieces  along  with  them. 

Dick  thrilled  at  the  fine  sight  when  the  barges 
were  rowed  out  into  the  river  and  towards  a  point 
of  land  eastward  from  the  hill  on  which  the  Yankee 
army  waited.  Passing  between  the  belching  vessels 
and  the  river's  mouth,  and  as  the  wind  drove  the 
cannon  smoke  westward,  the  barges  with  their  loads 
of  scarlet  and  steel  stood  out  clear  in  the  sunlight. 

It    was    one    o'clock    when    the    barges    huddled 


122  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

together  at  the  point,  and  the  red-coated  troops 
filed  ashore,  and  began  to  form  in  lines,  now  on 
the  same  side  of  the  river  with  the  colonials  who 
had  defied  them.  Dick  admired  the  precision  of 
the  three  lines  in  which  they  formed,  the  patience 
with  which  they  waited  while  their  officers  consulted 
and  while  the  barges  went  back  apparently  for  more 
troops,  the  matter-of-fact  manner  in  which  many  of 
them  ate  their  dinners  while  they  stood. 

He  was  drawn  from  this  sight  presently  by  a 
cheer  from  his  own  comrades,  which  heralded  the 
arrival  of  some  teams  with  provisions  and  barrels 
of  beer.  While  he  was  partaking  of  the  consequent 
good  cheer,  there  was  another  outburst  of  enthu 
siasm,  this  time  over  the  arrival  of  Doctor  Warren, 
recently  made  a  general,  and  General  Pomeroy,  who 
both  came  to  serve  for  the  day  in  the  ranks,  as  vol 
unteers.  Soon  General  Putnam  rode  back  again  to 
the  redoubt. 

Now  the  British  were  seen  beginning  a  movement 
from  the  point,  and  along  the  Mystic  River,  which 
ran  by  the  hill's  northern  base  as  the  Charles  ran 
by  its  southern  one.  Some  artillery  and  some  Con 
necticut  troops,  detached  to  oppose  this  movement, 
went  down  the  hill  and  began  to  construct  a  kind 
of  breastwork  of  a  pair  of  stone  and  rail  fences  and 
some  fresh-cut  hay  that  lay  in  the  fields.  But  Dick 
had  no  attention  for  this  business,  or  for  the  rein- 


THE    WIND    OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  123 

forcements  that  began  to  arrive  over  Charlestown 
Neck  in  the  fire  of  the  British  ships  and  batteries. 
All  his  powers  of  sight  were  for  the  well-drilled 
enemy,  who  had  ceased  to  move  along  the  Mystic, 
and  now  stood  near  the  point. 

At  about  three  o'clock  the  British  barges  came 
back  from  Boston  on  their  second  trip,  and,  landing 
short  of  the  point,  disembarked  their  troops  at  a 
place  much  nearer  the  redoubt  than  the  first  force 
was.  "  It's  them  we'll  be  having  dealings  wi',"  said 
MacAlister,  nodding  towards  the  new  arrivals. 
"There's  a  regiment  that  we'll  ken  the  name  of 
later,  and  a  battalion  of  marines,  not  to  speak  of 
them  companies  of  light  infantry  and  grenadiers. 
Whist,  lad,  it's  like  we'll  hae  the  worth  of  our 
labors." 

While  Dick  waited,  with  his  eyes  on  the  force  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  in  front  of  him,  he  was  vaguely 
conscious  that  things  were  doing  elsewhere  ;  that  the 
field-pieces  of  the  British  right  wing  —  the  force  first 
landed  —  were  conversing  with  the  Yankees'  can 
non  ;  that  parties  were  being  sent  out  from  the 
redoubt  to  flank  the  enemy  and  were  doing  a  little 
futile  skirmishing ;  and  that  the  roars  of  cannon 
were  more  deafening,  the  balls  raining  more  thickly 
and  incessantly  on  the  hillside  from  the  ships  and 
the  Boston  batteries.  At  last  the  British  left  wing 
—  the  newly  landed  force,  of  which  Tom  had  spoken 


124  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

—  began  to  march  towards  the  redoubt.  This  left 
wing  had  meanwhile  been  augmented  by  some  of  the 
regiments  that  had  crossed  the  river  on  the  first  trip 
of  the  barges. 

"They're  coming,  boy,"  said  old  Tom.  "It's  a 
general  movement  of  both  divisions.  They  are  the 
best  troops  in  the  world,  son,  dour  devils  every  ane 
of  them,  and  they  mane  to  tak'  this  hill  as  sure  as  we 
mane  to  hould  it.  It's  a  grand  disputation  ye' re  like 
to  see  this  day,  lad  !  " 

Colonel  Prescott  strode  around  the  platform,  in 
structing  the  men  upon  it  how  to  fire,  the  men 
behind  it  how  to  hand  loaded  guns  to  the  first,  how 
to  reload,  how  to  take  the  places  of  the  disabled. 
"  Remember,"  said  he,  "  wait  for  the  word  before 
you  fire.  Mind  you  put  every  grain  of  powder  to 
good  use  ;  there's  none  for  wasting.  Aim  at  their 
waist-bands,  and  bring  down  their  officers.  That 
musket  must  be  lower,  man,  when  you  come  to  fire. 
You,  there,  with  your  finger  ready  to  pull,  wait  for 
the  word,  I  tell  you  !  " 

Warfare  and  orders  were  different  with  the  Yankee 
army  on  the  hill,  from  what  they  were  with  the  disci 
plined  soldiers  marching  up  to  the  attack. 

Dick  was  dimly  aware  of  flashes  from  British 
artillery  posted  near  some  brick-kilns  near  the  hill's 
foot,  but  all  his  thoughts  were  on  the  infantry,  as  yet 
distant  but  steadily  approaching,  with  a  precision 


THE    WIND    OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  12$ 

that  was  proof  against  marshy  ground,  tall  grass, 
stone  or  rail  fences,  and  other  impediments.  On 
they  came,  at  a  steady  walk,  to  the  beating  of  their 
own  drums,  marching  in  silence,  looking  neither  to 
right  nor  to  left,  outwardly  as  calm  as  if  on  parade, 
showing  in  their  faces  no  complaint  against  the  heat 
nor  any  fear  of  the  fate  that  might  await  them,  men 
patient,  machine-like  in  response  to  orders,  their 
scarlet  coats  blazing  in  the  sun,  their  steel  bayonets 
flashing,  men  perfectly  groomed,  lifted  to  disdain  of 
death  by  the  sense  of  comradeship  and  of  the  occa 
sion's  bigness  and  by  devotion  to  the  sun-lit  flag  that 
fluttered  slightly  in  the  faint  breeze,  —  so  they  came, 
their  faces  fixed  with  a  mild  curiosity  on  the  redoubt, 
and  it  seemed  to  Dick  that,  coming  in  fashion  so 
orderly  and  businesslike,  they  could  not  in  possibility 
be  turned  back  or  stayed.  Thrilled  with  admiration, 
"By  the  Lord,"  he  said  to  MacAlister,  "that's  the 
way  to  march  to  one's  death  !  Who  could  be  afraid 
to  face  all  hell,  either  marching  with  them,  or  waiting 
here  to  fight  against  them  ?  " 

"  Bedad,  ye've  got  the  feeling,  lad !  "  Tom 
answered.  "When  great  matters  do  be  brewing,  a 
man's  ain  life  is  sic  a  wee  sma'  thing,  he'll  no  haggle 
over  it ! " 

The  British  left  wing  approached  in  long  files,  its 
right  composed  of  tall-capped  grenadiers,  who  came 
towards  the  breastwork  north  of  the  redoubt,  its 


126  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

centre  consisting  of  several  regiments  of  ordinary 
foot,  its  extreme  left  being  made  up  of  marines, 
whose  commander's  figure  was  recognized  by  one  of 
Dick's  comrades  as  that  of  Major  Pitcairn,  who  had 
called  on  the  rebels  on  Lexington  Common  to  dis 
perse.  When  the  redcoats  were  still  at  a  consider 
able  distance,  they  deployed  into  line  and  fired  at  the 
Yankees'  works,  all  in  unison,  as  if  each  was  part  of 
a  great  machine.  In  his  admiration  of  their  move 
ment,  and  of  the  quiet  and  easy  manner  in  which  the 
marching  officers  had  ordered  it,  Dick  heeded  not  the 
whizz  of  bullets  overhe'ad.  On  some  of  his  comrades 
the  strain  was  too  great  to  resist,  and  they  impul 
sively  fired  their  pieces  at  the  approaching  scarlet 
lines.  Prescott's  voice  rose  in  loud  reproof  of  these, 
and  some  of  the  officers  ran  along  the  top  of  the 
parapet,  kicking  up  the  guns  of  men  who  were 
taking  aim. 

On  came  the  enemy,  firing  at  regular  intervals  in 
obedience  to  slight  gestures  of  their  officers.  And 
now  they  were  so  near  that  man  might  be  distin 
guished  from  man,  each  by  his  face,  though  all  the 
countenances  had  in  common  the  impassive,  obedient, 
patient,  unquestioning  look  of  British  veterans. 
With  the  Yankees  the  tension  of  inward  excite 
ment  was  such  that  Dick  and  most  of  his  comrades 
would  not  trust  their  voices  to  speak ;  but  some 
grumbled  nervously,  or  even  growled  as  in  ordinary 


THE    WIND  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  I2/ 

moods.  "  Bean't  we  ever  going  to  give  it  to  them  ?  " 
demanded  one,  and  "  Air  we  going  to  let  them  walk 
right  into  the  fort,  'thout  our  moving  a  finger?" 
queried  another.  It  began  to  look  to  Dick  as  if  the 
enemy  were  indeed  dangerously  near,  and  he  glanced 
at  Tom  MacAlister,  who  was  motionlessly  breasting 
the  parapet,  gun-butt  against  shoulder,  eye  following 
out  the  barrel,  finger  bent  to  pull  at  the  word.  Pres 
ently  all  growlings  ceased,  and  nothing  was  heard 
but  the  roar  of  the  cannon,  the  throbbing  beat  of  the 
enemy's  drums,  and  the  singing  of  the  bullets  in 
the  air.  Then  the  powerful  voice  of  Prescott  rang 
out  in  the  single  word,  "  Fire !  " 

There  was  flash,  a  crack,  a  belch  of  smoke,  along 
the  whole  redoubt ;  and,  when  the  smoke  rose,  Dick 
got  an  indistinct  impression  of  great  gaps  in  the 
scarlet  lines,  of  red-coated  soldiers  lying  on  the  ground 
in  various  positions,  some  writhing  and  grimacing, 
some  perfectly  still,  some  pierced  and  bleeding,  some 
without  visible  wound.  Those  still  afoot  were  look 
ing  astonished  and  were  trying  to  retain  or  recover 
the  regular  formation  of  their  lines.  Some  of  them 
fired  back  at  the  redoubt.  Dick  mechanically  grasped 
the  loaded  gun  handed  to  him  by  a  man  behind  the 
platform,  and  as  mechanically  relinquished  his  own 
emptied  weapon  to  the  same  man  ;  in  another  moment 
he  was  blazing  away  again  at  a  scarlet  coat.  Then 
he  himself  reloaded,  and  fired  a  third  time ;  and  after 


128  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

that  he  saw  the  broken  scarlet  lines  in  front  of  him 
roll  back  down  the  hill,  -in  a  kind  of  disorderly  order, 
many  of  the  redcoats  falling  behind  and  plunging 
presently  to  the  earth. 

"  We  have  actually  driven  them  back  ! "  was  his 
thought,  and  he  bounded  to  the  top  of  the  parapet, 
thrown  forward  by  an  irresistible  impulse  to  give 
chase ;  but  he  was  stayed  by  the  hindering  grasp  of 
Tom  MacAlister  upon  the  seat  of  his  breeches.  He 
looked  around  in  surprise,  for  several  men  had 
leaped  over  the  parapet,  with  a  cheer,  to  follow  the 
fleeing  foe.  But  officers  leaped  after  these  men  and 
vehemently  ordered  them  back  into  the  redoubt. 
"  They're  beaten  !  "  cried  Dick,  ecstatically. 

"Maybe,"  quoth  old  Tom;  "but  it'll  no  be  them, 
I'm  a-thinkin',  if  they  stay  so  !  " 

All  the  world  knows  they  did  not  stay  so  ;  that  the 
rest  of  that  hot,  eventful  afternoon,  until  the  termi 
nation  of  the  fight,  had  nothing  in  it  to  give  Dick  an 
impression  different  from  those  he  had  already 
received  ;  that  the  British  re-formed  by  the  shore, 
charged  up  the  hill  a  second  time,  and  were  a  second 
time  driven  back  by  the  deadly  American  marksman 
ship  ;  that  to  aid  their  second  attempt  they  set  fire 
to  Charlestown,  but,  the  smoke  being  driven  west 
ward,  failed  to  accomplish  their  purpose  thereby ; 
that  the  British  cannon  did  a  little  more  work  this 
second  time  ;  that  the  British  soldiers  were  somewhat 


THE    WIND    OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  12Q 

impeded  in  their  charge  by  the  bodies  of  dead  and 
wounded  comrades  they  had  to  step  over ;  that  their 
officers  had  to  do  some  threatening  and  sword-prick 
ing  and  striking  to  persuade  them  forward  ;  that  their 
second  retreat  was  in  greater  disorder  than  their  first, 
and  left  'the  ground  covered  more  thickly  with  dead 
and  wounded ;  that  they  waited  a  long  time  before 
they  began  their  third  attack ;  that  on  the  American 
side  there  was  much  bungling  in  attempts  to  bring 
on  reinforcements  that  arrived  over  Charlestown 
Neck  ;  that  many  of  the  cowardly  and  the  disgruntled 
slunk  away ;  that  in  each  charge  the  occurrences  at 
the  redoubt  were  similar  to  those  at  the  breastwork 
and  at  the  stone  and  rail  fence  ;  that  the  second 
attack  left  the  Americans  with  very  little  ammuni 
tion.  The  few  artillery  cartridges  that  contained  all 
the  powder  at  hand  were  opened,  and  the  powder 
was  given  out  to  the  men  with  instructions  to  make 
every  kernel  of  it  tell. 

"  If  they're  driven  back  once  more,  they  can't  be 
rallied  again,"  said  Colonel  Prescott ;  and  his  men 
cheered  and  replied,  "We're  ready  for  them !  "  The 
few  men  with  bayonets  were  placed  at  points  the 
enemy  would  probably  attempt  to  scale.  It  was 
seen  that  the  British  boats  had  been  sent  back  to 
Boston,  —  so  that  the  British  troops  would  not  have 
them  to  flee  to,  as  old  Tom  divined,  —  also  that  the 
British  had  received  reinforcements  from  the  vessels. 


130  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

When  they  advanced  in  column  to  the  third  attack, 
they  came  without  knapsacks,  and  their  whole  move 
ment  was  concentrated  upon  the  redoubt  and  breast 
work,  while  their  artillery  was  sent  ahead  and  so 
placed  as  to  enfilade  the  Americans  in  flank.  The 
red  lines  were  but  twenty  yards  away  when  Prescott 
gave  the  order  to  fire.  The  columns  wavered  at 
the  volley,  but  recovered  form  in  a  moment,  and 
sprang  forward  with  fixed  bayonets,  without  firing 
in  return.  Dick,  knowing  he  had  fired  his  last 
round,  and  following  Tom's  example,  turned  his 
weapon  around  to  use  it  as  a  club.  He  was  now 
at  the  southeastern  corner  of  the  redoubt. 

The  British  surged  up  to  the  southern  side,  like 
a  tidal  wave,  their  front  line  being  lifted  by  the 
men  behind.  A  red-coated  officer  set  foot  on  the 
parapet,  cried  out  "  The  day  is  ours ! "  and  fell, 
pierced  by  the  last  bullet  of  some  Yankee  inside 
the  redoubt.  The  whole  first  rank  that  mounted  the 
parapet  was  shot  down,  but  there  was  no  powder 
left  for  the  ranks  that  followed.  -Dick  brought  down 
his  rifle-butt  with  all  his  strength  on  the  head  of  the 
nearest  redcoat.  Before  he  could  raise  his  weapon, 
he  felt  in  his  leg  the  violent  thrust  of  a  British 
bayonet.  He  made  a  wild  movement  to  clutch  it, 
but  it  was  drawn  out  of  him  by  its  owner's  hand. 
Dick  fell  forward  on  one  knee,  and  a  moment  later 
toppled  over  the  parapet  and  fell  outside  the  redoubt, 


THE    WIND    OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  131 

upon  the  quivering  body  of  a  dying  redcoat,  by 
whose  advancing  comrades  he  was  soon  trodden  into 
insensibility. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  again  it  was  late  in  the 
evening.  The  melee  was  over.  He  lay  on  some 
hay  on  the  hillside,  with  a  number  of  other  men, 
some  wounded,  some  apparently  whole,  all  under 
guard  of  sentries  who  paced  on  every  side.  He  soon 
perceived  that  the  men  under  guard  were  of  the 
Yankee  army,  while  those  who  guarded  them  were 
British,  and,  as  he  presently  recognized  the  redoubt 
not  far  away,  he  knew  that  the  British  had  won  the 
day  and  that  he  was  a  prisoner.  Before  night  a  sur 
geon  came  and  examined  his  wound,  had  it  washed 
and  tied  up  by  an  assistant,  and  pronounced  it  of  no 
consequence.  Dick  passed  the  night  in  exhaustion, 
pain,  and  thirst,  on  his  bed  of  hay  on  the  hillside. 

The  next  day,  while  the  British  were  fitting  the 
redoubt  for  their  own  service,  and  also  beginning 
new  works,  Dick  and  his  fellow  prisoners  were 
marched  down  to  the  river,  conveyed  by  boat  to 
Boston,  and  led  through  certain  streets  of  that  town, 
some  of  which  were  curved,  some  crooked,  some 
steeply  ascending,  some  flanked  by  closely  built 
rough-cast  houses  with  projecting  upper  stories,  some 
by  commodious  brick  or  wooden  residences  in  the 
midst  of  fine  gardens  ;  and  so  into  a  stone  jail  that 
stood  with  its  walled  yard  on  the  south  side  of  the 


132  THE  ROAD    7V   PARIS. 

way.  At  one  side  of  the  entrance,  within  this 
prison,  was  a  guard-room,  into  which  each  prisoner 
was  taken  for  his  name  to  be  entered  in  the  records. 
Dick  was  the  last  to  be  directed  thither.  When  he 
had  been  duly  registered  by  the  proper  officer,  he 
turned  to  follow  the  guard  to  the  cell  assigned  him. 

"  So  we've  got  you  at  last,"  came,  in  a  slightly 
Irish  accent,  from  a  British  officer,  who  appeared  to 
be  in  some  authority  at  -the  prison,  but  whom  Dick 
had  not  before  observed  closely.  "  Faith,  we'll  take 
care  you  shall  stay  with  us  awhile,  and  we'll  not 
give  you  a  chance  to  murder  English  officers,  either, 
as  you  tried  to  murder  Lieutenant  Blagdon  in  New 
York.  What  have  you  done  with  my  sword,  you 
spalpeen  ? " 

Dick  recognized  the  officer  in  whose  company 
Blagdon  had  been  at  the  time  of  the  occurrence  in 
the  King's  Arms  Tavern.  He  would  have  made 
an  answer,  although  the  other's  question  did  not  in 
its  tone  imply  expectation  of  one ;  but  the  guard 
hurried  him  away,  in  obedience  to  a  sudden  gesture 
of  the  Irishman. 

"  At  least,"  thought  Dick,  "  though  that  man,  as 
Blagdon's  friend,  counts  himself  my  enemy,  he  has 
done  me  the  service  of  informing  me  that  Blagdon  is 
not  dead.  *  Tried  to  murder  Blagdon,'  he  said.  Tom 
the  piper's  son  was  right.  And,  thinking  of  Tom, 
I  wonder  where  he  is  now.  Evidently  not  a  pris- 


THE    WIND    OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  133 

oner,  for  our  lot  seems  to  comprise  all  that  were 
taken.  Killed  ?  I  can't  think  that !  Does  he  know 
what  has  become  of  me,  I  wonder  ?  Shall  I  ever  see 
him  again  ?  " 

Having  been  conducted  up  a  narrow  stairway,  he 
was  led  along  a  corridor  and  ushered  into  a  large, 
bare  apartment  whose  wooden  door  opened  thereupon. 
But  if  this  apartment  was  bare  as  to  its  wooden 
walls  and  floor  and  ceiling,  it  was  far  from  empty, 
being  occupied  already  by  half  a  score  of  men,  some 
of  whom  were  of  the  party  of  prisoners  that  had 
come  with  Dick.  The  guard  now  closed  the  door 
and  fastened  it  on  the  outside,  Dick  having  been  the 
last  prisoner  lodged. 

Dick  and  his  roommates  had  of  floor  space  barely 
sufficient  for  all  to  lie  down  at  once,  and  of  light 
they  had  only  what  came  from  a  single  window, 
which  looked  across  the  jail-yard  to  some  rear  out 
buildings  and  gardens  appertaining  to  houses  in  the 
street  beyond.  The  unpainted  wood  that  encased 
the  cell  was  interrupted  only  by  the  window  and  in 
certain  places  where  the  inside  of  the  stone  outer 
wall  of  the  prison  was  visible.  There  were  in  the 
cell  two  large  wooden  pails,  which  were  removed  and 
returned  once  a  day. 

Regularly  each  day  the  door  opened  to  admit  men 
who  brought  water,  bread  or  biscuit,  and  sometimes 
porridge  or  stew  or  other  food  ;  and  the  prisoners 


J34  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

were  now  and  then  taken,  singly  or  in  small  par 
ties,  to  walk  in  the  yard.  They  were  made  by 
their  guards  to  suppose  themselves  recognized  not 
as  prisoners  of  war  but  as  rebels  or  traitors,  and 
to  consider  the  slightest  acts  of  consideration  to 
wards  them  as  unmerited  privileges.  As  the  days 
passed,  it  became  manifest  that  Dick  received  fewer 
such  privileges  than  fell  to  any  of  his  fellow  prisoners. 
He  promptly  attributed  this  to  the  influence  of  the 
Irish  officer. 

Did  that  officer,  Dick  asked  himself,  know  the 
story  of  the  miniature?  Probably  not,  or  he 
would  have  made  some  attempt,  on  Blagdon's 
behalf,  to  obtain  it.  Such  an  attempt  would 
doubtless  have  failed,  however,  as  was  shown  in 
the  search  made  of  Dick's  person  on  his  capture, 
a  search  which  had  not  disclosed  the  picture.  For 
Dick,  to  be  ready  against  the  chance  of  war,  had 
encased  the  keepsake  in  a  tight-fitting  silken  bag, 
which  he  had  then  concealed  in  his  plentiful  back 
hair,  fastening  it  by  means  of  tiny  cords  entwined 
with  locks  of  hair  and  with  the  ribbons  that  tied  his 
queue.  There  it  'remained  during  his  imprisonment. 

Of  the  thirty  prisoners  taken  by  the  British  in 
the  battle,  only  a  few  were  in  Dick's  cell,  the 
others  being  confined  in  other  apartments  in  the 
jail.  Among  Dick's  roommates  were  some  citi 
zens  of  Boston,  in  durance  for  various  alleged 


THE    WIND    OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  135 

offences  against  the  royal  government.  One  was 
charged  with  having  drawn  plans  of  British  forti 
fications,  another  with  having  given  intelligence  to 
the  rebels  by  means  of  correspondence  smuggled 
through  the  lines,  another  with  having  had  fire 
arms  concealed  in  his  house,  — the  people  having, 
on  unanimous  vote  of  town  meeting,  delivered  up 
their  weapons  on  April  2/th.  A  printer  was  held 
under  the  accusation  of  having  published  seditious 
matter,  and  one  childlike  old  gentleman  pined  in  the 
cell  because  he  was  said  to  have  made  signals  to 
the  rebels  from  a  church  steeple. 

This  last-mentioned  person,  a  mild,  bewigged 
individual,  his  features  rendered  sharply  angular 
by  age,  spent  his  time  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the 
cell,  his  eyes  fixed  distressedly  on  vacancy,  his 
lips  now  and  then  opening  to  utter  a  childish 
whimper  of  protest  against  his  situation.  The 
printer  knew  this  old  gentleman,  and  gave  Dick 
an  account  of  him.  He  was,  it  appeared,  a  re^ 
tired  merchant  and  ship-owner,  who,  at  a  time 
when  people  were  frequently  ascending  to  roofs 
to  view  the  doings  of  the  besieging  Yankees,  had 
climbed  to  a  church  steeple,  on  being  bantered  by 
some  jocular  fellows  who  had  cast  doubts  on  his 
ability  for  such  exertion.  The  gesticulations  with 
which  he  had  called  attention  to  his  success  were 
taken  by  some  prominent  Tories  to  be  designed  for 


136  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

the  information  of  the  rebels  outside  the  city.  De 
nunciation  and  imprisonment  had  speedily  followed. 
The  printer,  although  he  had  no  sympathy  for  the 
old  man,  whom  he  pronounced  a  rank  Tory,  said 
that  the  charge  was  all  the  more  absurd  for  the 
very  reason  of  the  prisoner's  Toryism,  which  cap 
tivity  had  not  extinguished.  When  the  old  gentle 
man  came  out  of  his  state  of  staring  and  moaning, 
as  he  infrequently  did,  it  was  to  deplore  articulately 
the  rebellion  that  had  got  him  into  trouble,  and  to 
curse  the  rebels  who  were  responsible.  "  Though  he 
has  enemies  among  the  Tories,"  said  the  printer, 
"he  has  friends  among  them  also,  and  it  is  quite 
likely  he  will  be  released  as  soon  as  General  Gage 
takes  time  to  consider  his  case." 

But  July  came  and  went,  and  the  old  Tory  still 
lingered  in  prison,  growing  constantly  more  fretful 
in  his  active  moments,  more  trance-like  in  his  pas 
sive  ones,  more  feeble  and  more  attenuated.  Mean 
while,  Dick  suffered  exasperatingly  from  the  heat, 
confinement,  vile  air,  want  of  sleep,  and  lack  of 
exercise.  His  wound,  slight  as  it  was,  was  slow 
in  recovery,  because  of  the  bad  conditions  of  his 
prison  life ;  yet  he  scarcely  heeded  it,  so  insignificant 
it  was  in  comparison  with  the  wounds  and  other  ail 
ments  of  some  of  his  fellow  prisoners.  One  of  these, 
in  whose  thigh  a  grape-shot  had  torn  a  hideous  gash 
that  finally  became  insupportable  to  more  senses  than 


THE    WIND   OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  13? 

one,  was  declared  by  the  surgeon  to  require  amputa 
tion,  and  the  operation  was  consequently  performed 
in  the  prison,  little  to  the  sufferer's  immediate  relief, 
although  he  ultimately  recovered.  Accounts  came, 
through  guards  and  surgeon's  assistants,  of  similar 
operations  in  the  jail,  not  all  of  which  were  as  success 
ful  as  that  performed  on  Dick's  cell-mate. 

Fevers  and  numerous  internal  disorders  assailed 
Dick  and  his  comrades,  and  their  cell,  in  its  half 
light  by  day  and  in  its  black  darkness  by  night,  was 
the  lodging  of  enfeebled  wretches  who  sat  or  lay  in 
close  contact  on  the  floor,  thrown  by  pain  or  rest 
lessness  into  every  conceivable  attitude.  Accus 
tomed  as  he  was  to  outdoor  air,  and  deprived,  as 
he  came  to  be,  of  a  breath  of  it,  as  well  as  of  all 
exercise,  Dick  began  early  in  August  to  lose  vitality 
with  alarming  rapidity.  He  became  as  thin  and  as 
sharp  of  feature  as  the  old  Tory  himself.  His 
exclusion  from  the  occasional  outings  in  the  prison 
yard  became  a  theme  of  general  talk  in  the  cell. 

One  day  the  surgeon  examined  Dick's  wound, 
assuming  as  he  did  so  a  kind  of  grave  frown,  and 
uttering  certain  ominous  ejaculations  to  himself,  his 
manifestations  having,  to  Dick's  keen  intelligence, 
the  appearance  of  being  put  on  for  a  purpose. 
Later,  the  same  day,  through  a  good-natured  guard, 
the  prisoners  received  two  pieces  of  news.  The 
first  was  that  the  new  commander-in-chief  of  the 


138  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

rebels,  Washington,  who  had  arrived  at  Cambridge 
early  in  July,  had  threatened  retaliation  for  any  ill- 
treatment  of  American  prisoners,  and  was  taking 
measures  that  must  eventually  result  in  the  exchange 
of  those  now  in  the  jail.  The  second  was  that  the 
old  Tory's  friends  were  working  vigorously  on  his 
behalf,  and  that  an  order  of  release  from  General 
Gage  might  soon  be  expected.  To  every  one's 
surprise,  the  old  gentleman  heard  this  information 
with  stupid  indifference. 

The  next  day,  the  surgeon  returned,  accompanied 
by  the  Irish  officer,  and  made  another  examination 
of  Dick's  wound.  This  done,  the  surgeon  turned  to 
the  officer,  and  said,  in  a  kind  of  forced  tone  and 
shamefaced  manner,  as  if  he  were- acting  a  part  he 
despised,  "  Amputation  will  be  necessary  in  this  case, 
sir." 

"  Indeed  ? "  said  the  officer,  without  even  a  seri 
ous  pretence  of  surprise.  "  Then  let  it  be  done 
immediately." 

"  Immediately,  the  devil !  "  cried  Dick.  "  Cut  my 
leg  off  ?  Why,  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  it  ! 
I  walked  on  it  all  the  way  to  this  prison ! " 

"  My  good  man,"  said  the  officer,  loftily,  "  you  don't 
know  what  is  best  for  you.  It's  our  duty  tp  care 
for  you,  even  against  your  own  will.  Don't  double 
up  your  fists  !  You'll  only  hurt  yourself  by  resist 
ing.  We  shall  use  force,  for  your  own  welfare,  if 


THE    WIND    OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  139 

need  be."  The  officer  left  the  cell,  and  the  surgeon 
briefly  told  Dick  to  be  ready  to  be  taken  down-stairs 
in  half  an  hour,  by  which  time  preparations  would  be 
made  for  the  operation  in  the  room  used  for  such 
purposes  ;  then  he  followed  the  officer. 

Before  Dick  could  recover  from  his  bewilderment, 
or  his  comrades  could  offer  other  than  expressions 
of  indignant  amazement,  the  cell  door  again  opened, 
and  the  friendly  guard  came  in  and  whispered  to  the 
printer  that  some  of  the  Tory's  friends  were  down 
stairs  with  a  coach  and  with  an  order  for  the  old 
gentleman's  release.  The  guard  had  been  sent  up 
stairs  to  break  the  news  to  the  Tory  and  to  make 
him  so  presentable,  if  possible,  that  his  friends  might 
not  have  too  much  cause  to  complain  of  the  effects 
upon  him  of  his  imprisonment.  The  guard,  knowing 
the  old  gentleman's  state,  preferred  to  entrust  the 
news-breaking  to  the  superior  delicacy  and  tact  of 
the  printer,  and,  having  easily  engaged  the  latter  to 
perform  it,  went  from  the  cell  to  wait  in  the  corridor. 

The  printer,  glancing  at  the  old  man  and  suppos 
ing  him  to  be  asleep,  rapidly  confided  to  his  fellow 
prisoners  what  the  guard  had  said,  and  then  stepped 
over  to  the  Tory  and  shook  him  gently  by  the 
shoulder.  After  a  pause,  he  repeated  the  shaking, 
then  stooped  closer  to  the  old  man  and  grasped  his 
body.  A  moment  later,  the  printer  turned  to  the 
expectant  prisoners,  and  said  in  a  loud  whisper,  "  By 


140  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

God,  I  think  they're  too  late  with  their  damned 
release  !  If  I  know  anything,  the  old  man's  dead  !  " 

Meanwhile,  the  Tory's  friends,  three  gentlemen  of 
middle  age,  sat  down-stairs  in  the  guard-room,  talk 
ing  with  the  Irish  officer,  who  explained  that  the 
prisoner  would  take  a  few  minutes  to  make  his  toilet. 
When  ten  minutes  had  passed,  the  officer  went  to 
the  corridor,  and  called  up  the  dim  stairway,  "  Mr. 
Follansbee's  friends  are  impatient  to  see  him,"  a 
speech  meant  as  a  signal  for  the  guard  to  conduct 
the  old  gentleman  down-stairs.  The  officer  then 
stood  at  the  side  of  the  stair-foot,  while  the  three 
gentlemen  waited  just  within  the  guard-room  door, 
opposite  the  officer. 

In  a  minute  the  guard  appeared  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  followed  by  two  armed  comrades,  and  sup 
porting  by  the  arm  a  bent,  trembling,  heavily  wigged, 
sharp-featured,  blinking  person,  whose  clothes,  of 
rich  texture,  were  the  same  the  old  Tory  had  worn 
into  the  prison,  but  were  now  sadly  soiled. 

Slowly  and  painfully  their  wearer  descended  from 
step  to  step,  in  the  half  light  of  the  stairs  and  corri 
dor.  When  he  reached  the  foot,  the  Irish  officer 
stepped  back  to  make  more  room  for  the  Tory's 
three  friends.  These  now  came  from  the  guard 
room,  and  stood  with  half  smiling,  half  shocked  faces, 
to  give  the  old  man  greeting.  When  he  reached  the 
lowest  step,  they  held  out  their  hands  to  him,  but,  to 


THE    WIND   OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  141 

their  astonishment,  as  the  guard  let  go  his  arm,  he 
darted  forth  between  two  of  them,  strode  past  the 
sentries  at  the  outer  prison  door,  and,  ignoring  the 
waiting  coach,  plunged  down  the  street  with  an 
alacrity  miraculous  in  one  so  enfeebled,  and  turned 
off  at  right  angles  into  the  first  street  that  ran 
southward. 

"  His  imprisonment  has  crazed  him  !  "  cried  one  of 
the  three  gentlemen. 

"  Hell  and  damnation ! "  cried  the  Irish  officer, 
rushing  up  the  stairs  and  motioning  the  guard  to 
follow.  Entering  the  cell,  he  stepped  over  the  pros 
trate  bodies  of  several  prisoners  to  a  figure  that  lay 
motionless  in  a  corner.  The  clothes  on  this  figure 
were  Dick  Wetheral's,  but  the  face  was  that  of  the 
dead  old  Tory.  With  a  curse,  and  a  gesture  of 
threat  at  the  prisoners  in  the  cell,  the  officer 
bounded  back  to  the  door,  fastened  it,  and  leaped 
down  the  stairs  to  order  a  pursuit. 

At  about  the  same  moment,  Dick,  tossing  the 
old  man's  wig  back  towards  the  prison  from  which 
he  ran,  thus  conversed  jubilantly  and  defiantly  with 
himself : 

"  Cut  my  leg  off,  eh  ?     Not  if  it  and  its  comrade 
serve  me  properly  to-day  !    The  printer  was  right,  — 
'twould  have  been  a  shame  to  waste  that  order  of 
release  on  a  dead  man  !  " 

As  he  ran,  he  divested  himself  of  the  old  Tory's 


142  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

cumbersome  coat,  throwing  it  over  a  gate  into  an 
alley-way  between  two  houses,  and  he  also  mentally 
justified  his  apparent  selfishness  in  consenting  to  be 
the  one  who  should  use  the  opportunity  of  escape. 
As  the  printer  and  others  had  argued,  in  the  few 
moments  available  for  discussion,  Dick's  leg  was  at 
stake,  he  had  been  singled  out  for  the  harshest  treat 
ment,  there  was  an  evident  intention 'to  persecute  the 
life  out  of  him,  and  the  others  might  be  presently 
exchanged,  which  Dick  could  not  hope  to  be  as  long 
as  the  machinations  of  his  enemy  could  hinder. 

When  the  vital  resources  called  forth  by  excite 
ment  were  used  up,  and  Dick  fell  back  to  his 
weakened  and  wounded  condition,  his  gait  became 
a  walk.  Fortunately,  until  that  time,  "his  way  had 
been  mainly  through  a  deserted  street,  so  that  his 
running  had  attracted  no  attention.  Reaching  a 
more  populous  thoroughfare,  on  which  he  saw  more 
soldiers  than  citizens,  he  proceeded  southwestwardly 
in  a  preoccupied  manner,  his  coatless  condition  being 
easily  accounted  for  by  the  heat  of  the  season.  At 
last  he  sat  down  to  rest  on  the  steps  of  a  large 
brick  church,  at  a  corner  where  the  street  opened 
to  a  great,  green,  hilly,  partly  wooded  space,  which 
he  knew,  from  previous  description  and  from  the 
military  tents  now  upon  it,  to  be  the  Common. 

While  he  was  viewing  the  scene,  and  gaining 
breath,  and  wondering  how  he  should  ever  get  out 


THE    WIND   OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  143 

of  the  town,  he  became  conscious  of  a  hurried  move 
ment  of  men,  at  some  distance  back  on  his  own 
route.  Standing  on  the  highest  church  step  to  look, 
he  saw  a  squad  of  soldiers  led  by  an  officer  whom  he 
took  to  be  the  Irishman.  Other  people  about  had 
noticed  this  movement,  which  was  rapidly  nearing. 

To  get  out  of  the  way  inconspicuously,  Dick 
descended  from  the  church  steps,  and  started  at  a 
walk  up  the  steep  street  that  ran  by  the  side  of  the 
church  and  which  bounded  the  end  of  the  Common. 
As  he  tugged  up  the  hill,  he  knew  by  cries  and  foot 
steps  that  the  soldiers  were  making  good  speed 
towards  the  corner  he  had  left ;  and  just  as  he 
reached  the  top  of  the  hill  he  heard  a  shout  from 
the  foot  of  it. 

"  Stop  that  rebel !  "  were  the  words,  and  the  voice 
was  that  of  the  Irish  officer.  Dick  turned  into  the 
street  that  went  along  the  upper  side  of  the  Common, 
and  thence  he  bounded  through  the  first  open  gate 
on  the  right-hand  side,  into  a  flowery  garden  before 
a  broad  residence  whose  wide  door,  flanked  by  glass 
panels  and  surmounted  by  a  great  fan-light,  gaped 
hospitably  from  a  spacious  vine-embowered  porch. 
As  he  made  for  this  porch,  for  the  time  hidden  from 
his  pursuers  on  the  up-hill  street  by  the  trees  at  the 
corner  of  the  Common,  a  young  lady  came  idly  from 
the  door.  She  first  halted  at  the  approaching  cry, 
"  Stop  that  rebel,"  and  then  stepped  back  in  surprise 


144  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

as  Dick,  tripping  on  the  steps  that  led  up  to  the 
porch,  fell  prone  at  her  feet. 

"  Dear  me,  what's  the  matter  ? "  she  said,  breath 
lessly  ;  then  quickly  stooped  and  picked  up  something 
from  near  Dick's  head. 

"  That  belongs  to  me  ! "  he  said,  hoarsely,  rising 
to  his  knees,  and  reaching  out  for  it  greedily.  It 
was  the  precious  miniature,  which  had  in  some 
manner  worked  from  its  fastenings  in  Dick's 
queue. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  asked  the  girl,  who  was  slender, 
blue-eyed,  and  fair,  still  retaining  the  portrait. 

"  Stop  that  rebel !  "  came  the  cry  from  around  the 
corner  of  the  Common. 

Dick's  mind  worked  quickly.  "  I'm  the  man 
they're  hunting,"  he  said. 

The  girl  frowned,  murmured  the  word  "  rebel," 
and  looked  down  at  him  with  an  expression  of  dis 
like.  From  this  he  knew  she  was  a  Tory,  hence 
friendly  to  his  pursuers  and  at  bitter  enmity  with 
his  cause. 

She  looked  mechanically  at  the  portrait,  which 
had  escaped  from  its  silken  bag.  "  Is  this  a  lady 
who  is  waiting  for  you  to  come  back  from  the  fight 
ing?"  she  asked,  with  sudden  softness  of  tone  and 
countenance. 

"  Yes,"  lied  Dick,  promptly ;  "  as  you  also  doubt 
less  wait  for  some  one  !  " 


THE    WIND    OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  145 

The  girl  blushed,  and  looked  sympathetically  at 
the  portrait,  then  at  Dick. 

"  Stop  that  rebel !  "  The  voice  had  turned  the 
corner  of  the  Common,  but  its  owner  was  still  con 
cealed  from  view  by  the  trees  and  bushes  of  the 
garden.  "  The  open  gate  yonder,"  it  added  ;  "  search 
that  place !  " 

"Sit  down,"  quickly  whispered  the  girl  to  Dick, 
handing  him  the  portrait.  "There,  —  under  that 
bench  !  " 

Dick  obeyed,  from  lack  of  other  choice,  at  the 
same  time  losing  hope,  for  the  space  beneath  the 
bench  was  open  to  the  view  of  any  one  entering 
the  porch. 

A  moment  later  he  felt  and  saw  himself  closed  in 
from  sight,  by  the  skirts  and  petticoat  of  the  young 
lady,  who  had  taken  her  seat  on  the  bench  immedi 
ately  over  him. 

In  this  novel  hiding-place  he  lay,  half  stifled,  while 
the  girl  politely  answered  the  questions  of  the  Irish 
officer,  whom  she  directed  to  a  rear  alley,  whither, 
she  said,  the  fugitive  must  have  betaken  himself;  and 
when  the  last  soldier  had  gone  from  the  premises  she 
blushingly  arose  and  faced  her  equally  flushed  guest, 
who  stammered  the  thanks  he  could  better  look 
than  speak.  Not  waiting  for  talk,  she  immediately 
conducted  him  to  the  garret  of  the  house,  where 
he  passed  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  the  ensuing  night, 


146  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

on  a  pile  of  old  bedclothes  behind  some  barrels. 
Next  afternoon,  she  brought  him  a  pass  obtained 
from  Major  Urquhart,  the  town-major,  permitting  one 
Dorothy  Morrill  to  pass  the  barriers  at  Boston  Neck. 
She  gave  Dick  a  maid-servant's  frock  and  cap, 
showed  him  how  to  put  up  his  hair  in  feminine 
fashion,  and  led  him  out  of  the  house  and  grounds 
by  a  back  way  while  the  family  sat  at  supper. 

"  Tis  all  for  the  sake  of  the  lady  who  is  waiting 
for  you,"  were  her  last  words,  and  Dick,  bowing  low 
so  as  to  avoid  her  eyes,  took  the  way  she  had 
described,  to  Boston  Neck.  In  the  streets  he  was 
chucked  under  the  chin  by  certain  jocular  soldiers, 
which  demonstrations  he  took  as  evidence  of  the 
excellence  of  his  disguise. 

His  heart  was  in  his  mouth  when  he  showed  his 
pass  to  the  sergeant  of  the  guard,  at  the  gate  in  the 
barriers,  for  failure  at  the  last  moment  is  a  sickening 
thing.  But  he  was  passed  through  without  special 
question,  and  went  on  his  way  rejoicing  to  Roxbury, 
past  the  George  Tavern,  and  so  to  the  American 
lines,  where,  taking  off  his  woman's  garb  before  the 
astonished  sentries,  he  was  recognized  by  one  of 
General  Thomas's  officers,  and  allowed  to  proceed 
through  Brookline  to  Cambridge. 

There  he  found  things  greatly  changed  since  he 
had  been  taken  prisoner,  as  he  had  found  them 
at  Roxbury  also.  The  camps  were  larger,  better 


THE    WIND   OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  147 

equipped,  and  more  orderly.  Everywhere  manifest 
was  the  presence  of  the  new  commander-in-chief, 
whose  headquarters  were  at  Cambridge,  where  the 
army's  centre  lay.  Best  of  all,  to  Dick,  companies 
of  riflemen  had  arrived  from  Virginia  and  Pennsyl 
vania,  one  from  his  own  county,  Cumberland.  He 
knew  its  captain,  Hendricks,  by  reputation,  and,  learn 
ing  from  Captain  Maxwell  that  Tom  MacAlister  had 
regularly  joined  this  organization,  he  hastened  to 
follow  the  last-named  hero's  example,  much  to  the 
said  hero's  unconcealed  delight,  although  not  to  his 
surprise,  for  nothing  ever  surprised  him.  Dick  found 
him  quartered  on  Prospect  Hill,  in  a  hut  of  boards, 
brush,  stones,  and  turf,  and  just  returned  from  a  day 
spent  with  a  rifle  in  picking  off  British  soldiers  in 
Boston. 

Dick  was  warmly  welcomed  by  Captain  Hen 
dricks,  and  speedily  mustered  in.  He  doffed  his 
prison-worn  clothes  for  a  rifleman's  suit,  which  had 
belonged  to  a  man  who  had  died  in  camp ;  renewed 
acquaintance  with  his  friend,  M'Cleland,  who  was  now 
a  lieutenant  in  the  company,  and  with  Lieutenant 
Simpson  and  others  from  his  own  part  of  the  coun 
try  ;  and  passed  his  days,  like  the  other  riflemen,  on 
the  hills,  blazing  away  at  British  soldiers  afar  in  the 
town,  even  bringing  down  a  redcoat  near  the  camp 
on  the  Common  now  and  then. 

He  counted  as  a  great  event  his   first  sight  of 


148  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS, 

Washington,  as  the  commander-in-chief  rode  along 
the  lines  when  the  regiments  were  assembled  for 
morning  prayers.  The  large,  soldierly  figure,  the 
mien  of  dignity  and  simplicity,  the  self-contained 
countenance,  quite  equalled  all  Dick's  previously 
formed  impressions  of  the  Virginia  hero,  and  would 
have  done  so  without  aid  of  the  buff -faced  blue  coat 
over  the  buff  underdress,  the  epaulettes,  the  small 
sword,  and  the  great,  warlike  cocked  hat  with  its 
black  cockade. 

On  a  fine  September  morning,  the  8th  of  the 
month,  Dick  and  Tom  took  note  of  these  general 
orders  of  the  commander-in-chief :  "  The  detachment 
going  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Arnold,  to  be 
forthwith  taken  off  the  roll  of  duty  and  to  march 
this  evening  to  Cambridge  Common,  where  tents  and 
everything  necessary  are  provided  for  their  reception. 
The  rifle  company  at  Roxbury  and  those  from  Pros 
pect  Hill,  to  march  early  to-morrow  morning,  to  join 
the  above  detachment.  Such  officers  and  men  as  are 
taken  from  General  Green's  brigade,  for  the  above  de 
tachment,  are  to  attend  the  muster  of  their  respective 
regiments  to-morrow  morning,  at  seven  o'clock,  upon 
Prospect  Hill ;  when  the  muster  is  finished,  they  are 
forthwith  to  rejoin  the  detachment  at  Cambridge." 

"And  what  do  ye  think  of  that,  now,  sonny,"  said 
old  Tom,  softly.  "  Do  ye  mind  a  word  I  spoke  to  ye 
once,  about  the  wind  o'  circumstance  ?  " 


THE    WIND    OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.  149 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  queried  Dick. 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  piper's  son,  "  only  that 
order  includes  us,  and  maybe  it's  well  ye  keep  it 
guid  hauld  of  the  bit  picture,  for  this  detachment 
will  be  bound  for  nane  ither  place  than  Quebec, 
lad !  " 

Quebec !  Dick  reached  back  and  clutched  the 
portrait,  which  had  been  restored  to  its  former 
hiding-place ;  and  only  in  a  vague,  distant  way  he 
heard  the  next  ensuing  words  of  MacAlister : 

"  It's  ever  over  more  hills  and  farther  away,  boy ; 
and  wha  kens  but  the  road  will  lead  to  Paris  yet, 
afore  all's  said  and  done  ?  " 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    MARCH    THROUGH    MAINE. 

IT  was  on  Monday  morning,  September  nth,  that 
Dick  and  Tom  marched  with  their  fellow  riflemen 
from  Prospect  Hill,  bound  first  for  Newburyport, 
thence  by  sea  for  the  mouth  of  the  Kennebec 
River,  and  thence  through  the  Maine  wilderness 
into  Canada  and  to  Quebec. 

The  little  army  of  1,100  men,  consisting  of  the 
two  Pennsylvania  rifle  companies,  —  one  from  Cum 
berland  County  and  one  from  Lancaster  County,  — 
Captain  Morgan's  company  of  Virginia  riflemen,  and 
two  divisions  of  New  England  infantry,  set  forth  in 
gay  spirits.  Its  commander,  Col.  Benedict  Arnold, 
of  Connecticut,  had  recently  arrived  in  Cambridge 
from  his  achievement  with  Ethan  Allen  at  Ticonder- 
oga,  his  deeds  on  Lake  Champlain,  and  his  capture 
of  St.  John's.  He  was  a  short,  stout,  ruddy,  hand 
some  man,  with  a  face  complacent  but  resolute.  His 
soldiers  admired  his  bravery,  and  the  most  ungovern 
able  of  them  yielded  to  his  great  persuasiveness. 

Dick  found  himself  more  immediately  under  the 
150 


THE  MARCH  THROUGH  MAINE.      151 

command  of  Capt.  Daniel  Morgan,  who  led  the  divi 
sion  composed  of  all  three  rifle  companies ;  a  large, 
strong  man,  whose  usually  severe  mien  softened  on 
occasion  into  a  .singularly  kindly  one ;  a  rigid  disci 
plinarian,  impetuous  yet  sagacious,  easily  aroused 
but  soon  calmed.  Dick's  own  captain,  William 
Hendricks,  was  tall  and  noble-looking,  gentle  and 
heroic  in  face  and  heart.  The  two  lieutenants, 
John  M'Cleland  and  Michael  Simpson,  were  both 
old  acquaintances  of  Dick's,  the  former  being  not 
able  for  his  openness  of  character,  the  latter  for  his 
gaiety  and  his  skill  as  a  singer.  Sergeant  Grier  was 
a  faithful,  reliable  man,  whose  stout  and  intrepid  wife 
accompanied  him  on  the  campaign  and  without  diffi 
culty  kept  the  respect  of  the  soldiers.  The  Lancas 
ter  company's  captain,  Matthew  Smith,  was  soldierly 
and  good-looking,  but  unlettered  and  turbulent.  Two 
of  his  best  men  were  a  pair  of  adventurous  youths 
no  older  than  Dick,  —  Archibald  Steele  and  John 
Joseph  Henry. 

Of  the  two  New  England  divisions,  one  was  under 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Christopher  Greene,  of  Rhode 
Island,  the  other  under  Lieutenant-Colonel  Enos, 
of  Connecticut.  But  Dick,  on  the  march,  came 
little  in  contact  with  the  Yankee  troops. 

Sleeping  by  the  way  on  the  first  night  of  the 
expedition,  the  army  reached  the  little  town  of 
Newburyport  on  Tuesday,  and  camped  here  sev- 


152  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

eral  days,  completing  its  equipment.  It  was  joined 
here  by  several  volunteers,  including  two  young 
men  named  Aaron  Burr  and  Matthew  Ogden,  and 
Colonel  Arnold  attached  these  two  to  his  staff. 
On  Monday  afternoon,  September  i8th,  the  army 
embarked  on  ten  transports,  which  set  sail  in  the 
evening,  and  which,  under  a  fair,  strong  breeze, 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  Kennebec  at  dawn. 
Continuing  on  the  transports  a  short  distance  up 
this  river,  to  Gardiner,  the  army  left  them  at  Colo 
nel  Colborn's  ship-yard,  and  proceeded  in  two  hun 
dred  bateaux  to  Fort  Western,  —  on  whose  site  the 
city  of  Augusta  was  later  built,  —  reaching  that  place 
on  Saturday,  September  23d,  having  camped  by  the 
river  during  the  nights. 

Here  Colonel  Arnold  sent  forward  a  pioneer  party 
to  explore  the  river  and  to  blaze  a  way  through  the 
wilderness  at  each  place  where  boats  could  not  navi 
gate  and  where  the  men  would  have  to  go  by  land. 
Dick  openly  envied  the  lucky  fellows  selected  for 
this  duty,  —  Steele,  Henry,  four  more  of  Smith's 
men,  and  three  of  Morgan's.  As,  from  the  camp 
on  a  pine-clad  slope,  he  watched  them  set  out,  he 
would  have  given  much  for  a  place  in  one  of  their 
two  light  birch-bark  canoes,  each  of  which  was  partly 
laden  with  pork,  meal,  and  biscuit. 

"  Hoot  toot,  lad  !  "  said  MacAlister,  divining  the 
boy's  feelings.  "  It's  work  enough  ye're  like  to  have, 


THE  MARCH  THROUGH  MAINE.       153 

whether  ye  gang  before  or  behint,  ere  ye  set  eyes  on 
the  inside  of  Quebec  town  !  " 

It  was  Dick's  lot  not  to  go  behind.  The  rifle 
companies  constituted  the  van  of  the  army,  and 
set  out  from  Fort  Western  in  their  bateaux  a  day 
in  advance  of  the  second  division,  Greene's,  which  in 
turn  by  a  day  preceded  Eno's  division,  the  third  and 
last.  This  order  was  to  be  maintained  until  the 
army  should  have  gone  some  way  up  the  Kennebec, 
marched  to  that  stream's  branch,  the  Dead  River, 
proceeded  thereon,  and  made  thence  to  the  Chau- 
diere,  where  all  should  unite  for  the  advance  on 
Quebec.  Colonel  Arnold  waited  at  Fort  Western 
till  the  last  division  was  off,  then  took  a  canoe,  with 
Indians  at  the  paddles,  passed  the  third  and  second 
divisions,  and  overtook  the  advance  at  Norridgewock 
Falls,  in  the  country  of  the  moose  deer. 

Dick  now  found  himself  in  a  wilderness  more  soli 
tary  and  picturesque  than  his  own  Pennsylvania  for 
ests.  The  last  cabin  of  white  settlers  had  been  left 
behind.  Civilized  habitation  would  not  again  be  seen 
until  the  army  should  reach  the  French  settlements 
in  Canada.  The  river,  pursuing  a  turbulent  way 
among  rocks  and  over  cataracts,  was  set  amidst 
solitudes  of  fir-trees,  hemlocks,  birch,  and  other 
species,  and  these  crowned  the  eminences  that 
rose  now  gently,  and  now  abruptly,  on  every  hand. 
Within  sound  of  the  eternal  tumult  of  Norridge- 


154  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

wock  Falls,  were  the  ruins  of  a  deserted  Indian 
village,  and  as  Dick  lay  at  night  under  his  blanket 
on  his  bed  of  evergreen  branches,  listening  to  the 
noise  of  the  waterfall,  and  of  MacAlister's  snoring, 
he  would  look  through  his  tent  opening  and  imagine 
the  ghosts  of  bygone  red  men,  or  that  of  the  good 
French  priest,  Father  Ralle,  who  had  come  to  this 
village  in  1698,  and  been  killed  when  a  party 
from  Massachusetts  suddenly  attacked  the  place  in 
1724. 

It  was  the  task  of  Dick  and  his  fellow  riflemen  to 
open  the  way,  remove  impediments  from  the  streams, 
learn  the  fords,  explore  the  portages  or  carrying- 
places  where,  the  waters  not  being  navigable,  the 
boats  had  to  be  carried  over  land,  and  free  these 
last  of  obstructions.  For  this  work  their  attire  was 
more  suitable  than  was  such  garb  as  Dick  had  dis 
carded  on  joining  them ;  it  consisted  of  hunting-cap, 
flannel  shirt,  cloth  or  buckskin  breeches,  buckskin 
leggings,  moccasins,  and  outside  hunting-shirt  of 
brown  linsey-woolsey,  with  a  belt  in  which  a  knife 
and  a  tomahawk  were  carried.  Each  of  Morgan's 
men  wore  on  his  cap  a  front-piece  inscribed  with 
the  words,  "  Liberty  or  Death."  This  ever  present 
reminder  to  the  men,  of  the  cause  for  which  they 
toiled  and  suffered,  came  not  amiss.  It  was  not 
from  the  rifle  companies  that  the  desertions  occurred, 
which  united  with  swamp-fever  and  fatigue  to  reduce 


THE  MARCH  THROUGH  MAINE.      155 

the  army  to  fewer  than  a  thousand  able  men  before 
October  I3th. 

Dick  soon  realized  the  truth  of  old  Tom's  pre 
diction  concerning  hard  work.  At  the  times  when 
some  of  the  men  marched  along  the  river  banks, 
while  some  forced  the  bad  and  heavy  bateaux,  with 
their  loads  of  provisions  and  other  supplies,  up  the 
rapid  stream,  the  lot  of  the  former,  struggling 
through  thickets  and  swamps  and  over  rocks,  was 
no  worse  than  the  lot  of  the  latter,  wading  and 
pushing  against  the  current,  which  oftentimes  up 
set  or  swamped  their  boats,  and  damaged  provisions, 
arms,  and  ammunition.  More  than  once  a  whole  day 
was  spent  in  getting  around  some  single  cataract, 
the  men  unloading  the  cargoes,  carrying  them  — 
and  sometimes  the  boats  also  —  on  their  shoul 
ders,  then  relaunching  and  reloading  for  another 
tug  against  the  swift  stream.  Before  the  Great 
Portage,  from  the  Kennebec  to  the  Dead  River, 
had  been  traversed,  Dick  was  inured  to  the  life  of 
an  amphibious  being,  as  well  as  to  that  of  some 
swamp-infesting  animal  or  of  some  inhabitant  of  the 
underbrush.  His  breeches  and  leggings  were  torn 
almost  from  his  legs  by  thickets,  which  spared  not 
the  skin  under  them,  and  below  the  hips  he  was 
thoroughly  water-soaked.  But  he  still  slept  and 
ate  well,  there  being  at  this  time  plenty  of  trout 
and  salmon  in  the  ponds  and  streams,  with  which 


156  THE  ROAD    TO  IRAKIS. 

to  eke  out  the  diet  of  pork,  meal-cakes,  and  biscuit. 
As  yet  the  weather,  though  cold  at  night,  caused  no 
suffering  to  a  youth  of  Dick's  hardiness,  or  to  a 
veteran  as  well  seasoned  as  MacAlister. 

"  I  prophesy  that  will  be  the  langest  fifteen  mile 
ye' 11  often  gang  over,"  said  Old  Tom,  when  he  and 
Dick  came  to  a  halt  at  last  on  the  bank  of  the  Dead 
River,  having  put  behind  them  the  Great  Portage 
and  its  three  intervening  lakelets,  after  days  of 
dragging  and  pushing  of  boats  over  a  rough  ridge, 
and  through  ponds  and  bogs.  "  I  gather  from  offee- 
cial  sources,"  continued  the  Fiddler,  "  that  we're  like 
to  reach  the  Chaudiere  River  in  eight  or  ten  days, 
though  I  hae  my  doots,  seeing  it's  mony  a  mile  up 
this  river  we'll  be  ganging,  and  then  over  God  knows 
what  kind  of  country  after  that.  Weel,  weel,  lad, 
it's  Quebec  or  nothing  now,  if  ye  hauld  out,  for  devil 
a  bit  will  ony  mon  of  us  gang  willingly  back  over 
the  road  we've  come  by ! " 

So  jubilant  were  the  men  at  having  overcome  the 
difficulties  of  the  great  carrying-place,  that  they 
whistled  and  jested  as  they  launched  their  boats  on 
the  sluggish  waters  of  the  Dead  River.  They  acted 
as  if  the  end  of  their  journey  were  in  sight.  Colonel 
Arnold  had  already  sent  an  Indian  messenger  to 
General  Schuyler,  whose  army  from  the  province  of 
New  York  had  in  August  started  under  Montgomery 
from  Ticonderoga  to  enter  Canada  below  Montreal 


THE  MARCH   THROUGH  MAINE.  157 

and  eventually  unite  with  Arnold's  force  before  Que 
bec.  The  colonel  thought  to  receive  an  answer  to 
this  letter  on  arriving  at  the  Chaudiere. 

"  It's  a  blithe  lot  of  men,  true  for  ye,  wi'  their 
whistling  and  capering,"  said  old  Tom,  in  an  under 
tone,  as  he  and  Dick  stood  recovering  their  breath 
after  much  pulling  and  shoving  of  boats.  "  All  looks 
weel  and  bonny  the  day,  but  ye  maun  put  nae  trust 
in  appearances.  Do  ye  moind,  ayont  Curritunk, 
afore  we  left  the  Kennebec,  how  ye  steppit  sae 
merrily  on  the  green  moss  that  seemed  to  cover 
level  ground  for  sae  lang  a  stretch,  and  how  ye 
found  'twas  rotten  bog  beneath  the  surface,  and  full 
of  them  snags  that  tripped  ye  up  and  cut  your  feet 
in  the  devil's  ain  way  ?  Mony's  the  mon  like  that,  - — 
and  woman,  too  !  " 

Up  the  Dead  River  for  eighty-three  miles  the 
army  proceeded,  the  riflemen  still  leading.  Seven 
teen  times  they  had  to  unload  their  boats  and  carry 
the  loads  past  places  that  were  not  navigable.  On 
this  part  of  the  journey  the  men  were  assailed  by 
rains  and  cold  weather.  Lieutenant  M'Cleland, 
more  fragile  in  body  than  in  spirit,  was  one  of  many 
whose  constitutions  began  to  yield  to  these  assaults. 
With  a  cold  in  the  lungs,  he  toiled  on,  performing 
his  duties  and  refusing  aid,  until  his  increasing  weak 
ness  compelled  him  to  relinquish  the  former  and 
accept  the  latter,  on  his  comrades'  insistence  and 


158  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

his  captain's  orders.  When  the  chosen  route  de 
parted  from  the  Dead  River,  to  cross  a  mountain, 
M'Cleland  was  placed  on  a  litter  and  so  carried 
forward. 

"  If  I  can  only  hold  out  till  we  enter  Quebec !  " 
he  said  from  his  litter,  one  bleak,  drizzling  day,  while 
Captain  Hendricks,  Dick,  MacAlister,  and  others 
bore  him  up  the  wooded  mountain-side,  —  for  the 
captain  took  his  turn  at  the  litter  with  the  others. 

Captain  Hendricks  cheerily  said  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  that,  and  Lieutenant  Simpson,  who  hap 
pened  to  be  walking  immediately  behind  the  litter, 
predicted  that  the  sufferer  would  begin  to  mend  as 
soon  as  the  troops  should  reach  the  Chaudiere,  and 
reminded  him,  for  the  tenth  time,  that  a  boat  was 
being  carried  across  the  mountain  purposely  to  take 
him  down  that  river  while  his  comrades  should 
march  along  the  banks. 

The  lieutenant  brightened  up  at  this  reassurance 
that  he  was  not  to  be  left  behind,  —  as  more  than 
one  ailing  man  had  necessarily  been,  —  and,  turning 
his  eyes  to  Dick,  said : 

"  Do  you  remember  the  morning,  Dick,  when  I 
galloped  up  to  your  house  with  the  news  of  the 
beginning  of  this  business  ?  How  long  ago  that 
seems,  and  how  far  away !  "  His  voice  had  sunk, 
and  he  was  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  resumed,  with  as  much  cheerfulness  as  his 


THE  MARCH  THROUGH  MAINE.      159 

weakened  state  would  allow  him  to  show,  "  We 
didn't  imagine  ourselves,  that  morning,  marching 
into  Quebec  together,  as  we  shall  be  before  many 
a  day ! " 

Dick's  answer  was  prevented  by  a  fit  of  coughing 
on  M'Cleland's  part,  after  which  the  sufferer  closed 
his  eyes  and  went  into  a  feverish  doze.  Old  Tom 
glanced  down  at  him,  and  for  a  moment  looked 
grimmer  than  usually. 

Before  starting  to  cross  this  mountain,  which  was 
one  of  the  great  snow-covered  chain  running  north 
eastwardly,  Colonel  Arnold  and  the  first  division  had 
camped  at  the  base  to  rest.  The  tents  had  been 
flooded  by  heavy  rains  and  by  sudden  torrents  from 
the  mountains.  The  inundation  had  upset  several 
boats,  destroyed  provisions,  and  dampened  the  spirits 
as  well  as  the  bodies  of  the  men.  Rations  were 
shortened-,  and  the  dejecting  news  went  round  that 
there  remained  a  journey  of  twelve  or  fifteen  days  in 
a  wilderness  devoid  of  supplies.  After  consulting  with 
the  officers  on  the  ground,  Arnold  sent  orders  back 
to  Colonel  Greene  and  Colonel  Enos  to  bring  for 
ward  as  many  men  as  they  could  furnish  with  fifteen 
days'  provisions,  and  to  send  the  rest  of  their  forces 
back  to  Norridgewock.  These  orders  despatched, 
Arnold  and  the  riflemen  started  on  their  march 
across  the  mountain. 

Drenched  with  rain  at  the  outset,  they  were  soon 


160  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

chilled  by  wintry  winds,  and  presently  impeded  by 
snow  and  ice.     But  at  last  the  crest  of  the  mountain 
no  longer  crossed  the  bleak  sky  ahead.     Valleys,  set 
with  icy  streams  and  frozen  lakes,  came  into  view, 
their  sombreness  not  lessened  by  the  color  of  their 
dark  evergreens.     The  down-hill  and  cross-country 
march  of  the  scantily  fed  men  brought  them  at  last 
to    Lake   Megantic,  the   source   of   the   Chaudiere. 
Here,  they  met  a  courier  whom  Colonel  Arnold  had 
sent  ahead  to  the  valley  of  the  Chaudiere  to  sound 
the  French  habitant,  whose  humble  farms  would  be 
the  first  human  abodes  reached   in   Canada.     This 
emissary   said    that    the   peasants   would    give   the 
American    army   a    hospitable    reception.      Colonel 
Arnold  thereupon  chose  to  precede  the  army  down 
the  Chaudiere,  with  a  foraging  party,  that  he  might 
obtain  and  send  back  supplies  and  also  have  provi 
sions  collected  for  the  army's  use  on  its  arrival  at 
the   habitations.       He    therefore    caused    the    little 
remaining  food  to  be  given  out  equally  to  the  com 
panies,  ordered  them  to  follow  as  best  they  could  to 
the  Chaudiere  settlements,  and  set  out  with  a  birch 
canoe  and  five  bateaux.     In  the  colonel's  party  was 
Archibald  Steele,  with  whose  pioneer  force  the  rifle 
men  had  reunited   at    the  Dead   River,  and  whom 
Dick,  compelled  as  before  to  remain  behind  with  the 
main  advance,  again  had  reason  to  envy. 

"Whist,  lad!"   quoth    old   Tom.    "The    post    of 


THE  MARCH   THROUGH  MAINE.  l6l 

honor,  ye'll  find,  is  back  where  the  starving  will  be. 
There'll  be  low  spirits  henceforth,  I'm  thinking,  and 
waurk  for  the  fiddle,  hearting  up  the  men  when 
they've  leetle  dourness  left  to  fa'  back  on  and  it's 
devil  a  bit  of  difference  whether  they  live  'or  die. 
Lord,  Lord !  It's  a  gang  of  living  ghaists  we  are, 
Dickie.  Wi'  the  clothes  of  us  torn  to  flinders  by 
the  stanes  and  briars,  and  wi'  nowt  left  to  our  shoes 
but  the  tops,  we'd  do  fine  to  scare  away  the  crows 
from  the  corn  fields  in  a  ceevilized  country.  Sure, 
the  wind  is  like  to  pull  the  tatters  frae  our  backs, 
and  make  us  a  shocking  sight  to  the  ladies  when  we 
march  in  triumph  into  Quebec  !  " 

"If  we  ever  get  to  Quebec,"  said  a  soldier,  dis 
mally,  who  had  overheard  Tom's  last  words. 

"We'll  get  to  Quebec!"  said  Dick,  positively; 
and  he  involuntarily  put  back  his  hand  and  felt  his 
queue. 

Dick  now  went  to  speak  to  his  friend  M'Cleland, 
who  had  been  placed  in  a  boat,  which  was  to  be 
navigated  across  the  lake  and  down  the  Chaudiere 
by  Sergeant  Grier  and  several  others. 

"Mind  you  land  him  safe!"  called  out  the  ser 
geant's  buxom  wife,  as  the  boat  moved  off;  and 
the  sergeant  replied  he  would  do  his  best. 

"  I'm  afraid  the  poor  lieutenant  finds  it  a  long  way 
to  Quebec,"  said  Mrs.  Grier,  taking  place  in  the  line 
of  riflemen  as  it  started  for  the  Chaudiere  by  land. 


1 62  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"  It's  a  lang  way  for  some  more  of  us,"  replied 
Tom  MacAlister,  who  marched  behind  her.  "  There's 
that  puir  blind  Shafer,  the  drummer  in  the  Lancas 
ter  company.  Look  at  him  now,  yonder.  It's  ten 
to  one  he  can't  see  a  dozen  foot  ahead  of  his  nose, 
yet  he's  always  in  his  place,  next  man  to  one  ahint 
Captain  Smith,  —  except  when  he  fa's  into  a  bog, 
through  lack  of  eyesight.  It  must  be  the  sense  of 
hearing  keeps  him  sae  straight  after  the  heels  of 
young  Henry  afore  him.  Sure,  if  every  man  was 
like  him,  Captain  Morgan  would  never  have  to  look 
black  and  curse  inside  because  of  stragglers  from  the 
camp." 

"  It's  a  sin,"  said  Mrs.  Grier,  "  the  tricks  the  men 
play  on  him,  stealing  his  cakes  away  from  under  his 
very  eyes.  Och !  there  he  goes  now,  tumbling  off 
the  log  into  the  gully,  drum  and  all !  You're  right, 
MacAlister,  —  the  way  to  Quebec  is  a  long  one  to 
Shafer,  the  drummer." 

"  Yet  I'd  wager  a  pound  or  two,  if  I  had  it,"  said 
Tom,  "  the  puir,  blind,  naked,  hungry  body  will  be 
beating  his  drum  at  Quebec,  when  mony  a  stout  ras 
cal  that  laughs  at  him  now  will  be  sleeping  here  in 
these  gullies  wi'  the  bitter  wind  for  bed-covering." 

The  troops  came  presently  to  a  pond,  which  would 
require  so  wide  a  detour  to  skirt,  that  the  far  shorter 
way  was  to  cross  it.  Trying  the  ice  that  covered  it, 
the  men  found  that  too  thin  to  bear  their  weight. 


THE  MARCH  THROUGH  MAINE.      163 

With  dogged  resignation,  they  began  to  break  the 
ice  with  their  guns,  and  waded  in.  Mrs.  Grier 
raised  her  skirts  above  her  waist  and  followed  the 
man  ahead,  through  the  chilling  water,  to  the  oppo 
site  shore.  Dick  and  Tom  waded  immediately  after 
her.  No  one  offered  either  smile  or  comment.  On 
the  tired  troops  marched,  in  Indian  file,  hungry, 
shivering,  aching,  each  man  feeling  that  the  next 
step  might  be  his  last. 

When  they  reached  the  Chaudiere,  many  of  the 
riflemen  did  not  wait  for  the  order  to  halt,  but  ex- 
haustedly  sank  to  the  frosty  ground  in  line.  Tom, 
always  respecting  discipline,  trudged  on  till  the  word 
came,  followed  through  force  of  example  by  Dick  ; 
and  then  these  two  also  dropped  in  their  places. 

"  Chaudiere,"  said  MacAlister,  glancing  down  that 
stream.  "  That  means  caldron,  and  frae  the  look  of 
things  down  yonder  I  won't  gainsay  the  fitness  of 
the  name.  It's  unco'  wild  navigation  we're  like  to 
have,  down  that  there  boiling  torrent,  I'm  thinking!  " 

And  so  it  proved,  when  an  attempt  was  made  to 
launch  boats.  Every  one  that  was  put  into  the  river 
was  stove  in  by  rocks,  on  being  hurled  forward  by 
the  rapids.  But  Captain  Morgan  persisted,  until  he 
had  lost  all  of  his  boats.  The  ammunition,  arms,  and 
other  equipments  were  thereupon  taken  up  by  the 
men,  who  proceeded  along  the  banks  of  the  turbulent 
stream, 


164  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

It  happened  that  Dick  and  Tom  were  at  the  front 
of  the  division,  when  they  turned  the  corner  of  a  pro 
jecting  rock,  and  came  unexpectedly  on  a  group  that 
stood  around  a  fire,  beside  which  a  man  was  lying. 
It  required  but  a  glance  to  inform  Dick  that  this 
group  consisted  of  Sergeant  Grier's  party  and  that 
the  man  on  the  ground  was  Lieutenant  M'Cleland. 
The  sight  of  a  damaged  boat,  and  of  a  rock  near  the 
verge  of  a  cataract,  told  the  story,  — that  the  boat 
had  lodged  on  the  rock,  and  that  the  men  had 
managed  to  bring  the  feeble  lieutenant  ashore  in 
time  to  save  him  from  speedy  death.  In  a  moment 
Dick  was  kneeling  at  his  side,  whither  he  was 
soon  followed  by  Captain  Hendricks  and  Lieutenant 
Simpson. 

"  It  was  a  foolish  thing  to  let  you  go  by  the  river," 
said  Hendricks  to  the  prostrate  man,  whose  breath 
came  in  quick,  feeble  movements,  and  whose  weather- 
browned  features  had  an  ashy  pallor. 

"We'll  carry  you  on  as  we  did  over  the  moun 
tain, —  all  the  way  to  Quebec,"  said  Dick,  pressing 
M'Cleland's  hand. 

But  the  lieutenant  merely  smiled  faintly,  took 
on  a  look  of  drowsy  resignation,  essayed  to  shake 
his  head,  and  whispered  the  word,  "Farewell!" 
Dick  had  to  yield  the  hand  he  held,  and  his  place  by 
his  friend's  side,  that  his  captain  and  certain  of  his 
comrades  might  clasp  the  hand  once  ere  it  should 


THE  MARCH  THROUGH  MAINE.  165 

be  cold.  Even  as  Dick  was  thinking  of  the  sunny 
April  morning  when  his  friend  had  ridden  up,  all 
life  and  animation,  with  the  news  of  Lexington,  the 
soldier  sighed  his  last  farewell. 

When  the  troops  took  up  their  march  and  left  the 
dead  man  there,  as  they  had  left  many  another  in 
those  bleak  wilds,  Dick  had  a  moment  of  heart-sick 
ness,,  when  all  seemed  dark  before  him,  and  when 
he  wished  that  he  and  M'Cleland  might  be  back  in 
their  Pennsylvania  valley,  and  that  there  had  never 
been  a  war. 

"  Heart  up,  lad  !  "  came  over  his  shoulder,  softly, 
the  voice  of  old  Tom.  "  It's  mony  a  friend  ye'll 
leave  cauld  by  the  wayside  ere  ye  come  to  lie  there 
cauld  yoursel'.  Ye'll  learn  to  keep  looking  forward, 
as  ye  gang  over  the  hills  and  far  away.  Sae  hauld 
up  your  head,  and  swallow  your  Adam's  apple,  and 
fasten  your  mind's  eye  on  Quebec  !  " 

And  Dick  braced  himself  and  did  so. 

By  the  2Qth  of  October  the  last  mouthful  of  meat 
was  eaten  and  the  last  biscuit  gone.  A  little  flour 
remained,  and  this  was  divided  equally,  each  man 
receiving  five  pounds.  This  they  boiled  in  kettles  of 
water,  without  salt,  into  what  they  called  a  bleary, 
subsequently  eating  it  out  of  the  wooden  bowls 
around  each  one  of  which  several  half-numb  fellows 
sat  or  lay  at  meals.  At  such  times,  those  who  were 
not  reduced  to  a  state  of  wretched  apathy  or  speech- 


1 66  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

less  despair,  discussed  the  probabilities  of  their  ever 
receiving  food  from  Colonel  Arnold's  advance  party, 
or  of  their  perishing  in  the  chill  wilderness.  Many 
were  the  growlers  and  foreboders  of  evil. 

"  Bedad,"  said  Tom  MacAlister,  after  two  or  three 
of  these  had  been  having  their  say,  "  ye  put  me  in 
mind  of  the  complaining  children  of  Israel,  though 
it's  far  waur  than  them  ye  be,  for  they  had  forty 
years  in  the  wilderness  afore  ivver  they  set  sight  on 
the  Promised  Land." 

"Ay,"  replied  one  of  the  malcontents,  "but  the 
Lord  sent  them  manna  from  heaven,  whereas  he 
sends  us  only  rain  and  snow  and  wind.  And  who 
can  say  for  certain  when  we  shall  catch  sight  of  our 
Moses  again,  eh,  boys  ?  " 

Suspicions  like  this,  real  or  pretended,  that  their 
leader  had  deserted  or  even  betrayed  them,  were 
plentiful  among  these  troops,  as  they  were,  indeed, 
throughout  the  American  armies  during  most  of  the 
war  for  independence.  It  was  by  making  men  for 
get  these  thoughts,  or  ashamed  of  them,  that  the 
example  of  uncomplaining  endurance  set  by  Dick, 
and  the  soldierly  conduct  and  musical  performances 
of  old  Tom,  were  of  great  use  to  the  officers  in  hold 
ing  the  troops  to  their  weary  task.  At  night  an 
immense  fire  was  made,  and,  while  the  men  lay 
around  it  to  warm  their  bodies,  MacAlister  fiddled 
and  Lieutenant  Simpson  sang  for  them.  The  lieu- 


THE   MARCH   THROUGH  MAINE.  167 

tenant  had  a  rich,  manly  voice,  and  as  many  songs  at 
command  as  Tom  had  tunes,  —  songs  of  war,  comic 
songs,  songs  of  love,  —  and  his  voice  and  that  of 
Tom's  fiddle,  rising  above  the  crackling  of  the  fire, 
made  sounds  unwonted  in  that  wintry  wilderness 
accustomed  only  to  the  murmur  of  waters  and  the 
howling  of  winds. 

The  last  pinch  of  flour  found  its  way  into  the  pot 
and  thence  into  some  half  famished  stomach.  The 
men's  lives  now  depended  entirely  on  the  arrival  of 
supplies  from  Colonel  Arnold's  foraging  party  before 
starvation  could  complete  its  work.  After  going  a 
day  unfed,  MacAlister  and  Dick  boiled  their  leather 
cartouch-boxes  in  the  pot,  drank  the  broth,  and 
afterward  chewed  up  the  leather.  The  next  day 
they  discussed  the  advisability  of  following  the  ex 
ample  of  some  of  the  other  riflemen,  who  had  boiled 
their  moccasins  and  leggings.  Wandering  through 
the  camp,  while  off  duty,  they  came  to  a  startled 
halt,  at  sight  of  a  number  of  men  actually  eating 
some  roasted  meat.  Partaking  speedily  of  this  feast, 
on  invitation,  Dick,  not  recognizing  the  flavor  of  the 
flesh,  asked  what  it  was. 

"  Whist,  lad,"  said  old  Tom,  tearing  the  meat  from 
a  bone  with  his  teeth,  "  be  content  with  what  Provi 
dence  sends,  and  discipline  your  curiosity.  Ye'll  no 
relish  your  supper  the  better  for  speering." 

But  the  men's  talk  soon  disclosed  that  the  meat 


1 68  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

was  of  Captain  Dearborn's  Newfoundland  dog,  which 
had  been  an  army  pet.  Dick  ate  no  more  that 
evening,  but  the  next  day,  drawn  irresistibly  to  the 
same  mess,  he  accepted  a  ladleful  of  greenish  broth, 
which,  the  men  told  him,  had  been  made  of  the 
dog's  bones,  these  having  been  pounded  up  for  the 
purpose. 

"He's  all  gone  now,  poor  fellow,"  said  one  of 
the  men ;  "  even  the  insides  of  him,  and  Lord  knows 
when  we'll  eat  next !  " 

On  the  march,  the  troops  came  to  a  place  where 
the  Chaudiere  swept  a  smooth  beach,  through  which 
protruded  parts  of  sand-roots.  At  sight  of  these, 
many  of  the  men  broke  madly  from  the  file,  dug  out 
the  roots  with  their  fingers,  and  ravenously  ate  them 
on  the  spot. 

Captain  Morgan,  sharing  without  exemption  the 
sufferings  of  the  men,  was  no  less  severe  against 
insubordination  during  this  starving  time  than  he 
had  formerly  been.  His  rigid  yet  fair  rule,  and 
the  kindly  and  tactful  authority  of  Hendricks,  kept 
the  men  moving  along  towards  the  distant  goal, 
however  listlessly  and  hopelessly  some  of  them 
went.  As  for  the  Lancaster  company,  if  Captain 
Smith  was  unduly  boisterous,  his  men  had  before 
them  such  examples  of  unquenchable  spirit  as  young 
Henry,  and  of  unwearying  patience  as  Shafer,  the 
half  blind  drummer.  But  it  was,  on  the  whole,  a 


THE  MARCH   THROUGH  MAINE.  169 

despairing  band  of  haggard  and  half  naked  men 
that  moved  at  crawling  pace  along  the  rocky 
Chaudiere. 

"The  farther  we  march,  the  farther  away  seems 
the  Promised  Land,"  muttered  the  man  whom  old 
Tom  had  once  likened  to  the  murmuring  children  of 
Israel. 

MacAlister,  who  had  begun  to  limp,  for  the  once 
made  no  answer,  and  Dick,  toiling  heavily  along 
behind  him,  had  to  clench  his  teeth  and  think  of 
the  girl  in  Quebec,  to  keep  from  succumbing  to  the 
general  despair. 

Suddenly,  from  the  tree-hidden  distance  in  front, 
came  a  sound  that  made  every  man's  head  go  up  in 
eager,  half -incredulous  joy.  It  was  the  lowing  of 
cattle. 

The  troops  pushed  rapidly  forward,  every  ear  and 
eye  alert.  When  a  clear  space  was  reached,  and  a 
few  men  of  Colonel  Arnold's  party,  with  some  Cana 
dians  and  Indians,  were  seen  coming  up  the  river 
with  a  herd  of  cattle,  several  of  the  soldiers  shrieked 
wildly,  others  laughed  like  lunatics,  many  wept  like 
women,  and  some  rushed  forward  and  threw  their 
arms  around  the  great  brown  necks  of  the  cattle. 
Dick  smiled  and  cheered  and  waved  his  hat,  and 
old  Tom's  face  warmed  for  a  moment  into  a  gratified 
grin.  In  after  years  both  often  used  to  say  that 
the  joyfullest  sight  of  their  lives  was  that  of  these 


I/O  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

cattle  coming  up  the  river  on  that  wintry  day  in 
the  wilderness. 

While  they  ate,  around  their  camp-fire,  they  heard 
how  Arnold's  party  had  fared,  how  three  of  its  boats 
had  been  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  way  down  the 
Chaudiere,  the  cargoes  lost,  the  crews  put  in  great 
peril  of  their  lives,  one  boat-load  of  men  nearly 
thrown  over  a  cataract ;  how  the  party  was  cor 
dially  received  at  Sertigan,  the  nearest  French  set 
tlement,  whose  first  house  Arnold  had  reached  on 
the  night  of  October  3Oth,  and  how  he  had  started 
provisions  back  towards  the  army  early  the  next 
morning. 

It  was  two  o'clock  on  Saturday  afternoon,  Novem 
ber  4th,  when  the  riflemen,  having  swiftly  waded 
mid-deep  through  a  wide  stream  that  flowed  from 
the  east,  came  in  sight  of  the  first  house  they 
beheld  in  Canada,  a  small,  squat,  wooden  building, 
which,  with  its  barn  and  little  outhouses,  had  a  look 
of  snugness  and  comfort  all  the  greater  for  the  bleak 
surroundings.  The  men  rushed  forward  to  it  joy 
fully,  and  found  that  Colonel  Arnold  had  laid  in  a 
great  quantity  of  food. 

Stared  at  curiously  by  the  wool-clad  Canadian 
family  of  seven  persons,  the  famished  troops  ate 
voraciously,  cramming  their  throats  with  boiled 
beef,  hot  bread,  and  boiled  or  roasted  potatoes. 
Warned  by  MacAlister,  Dick  restrained  his  appe- 


THE   MARCH   THROUGH  MAINE.  \*Jl 

tite  and  fed  but  moderately.  Within  a  few  hours 
he  realized  the  value  of  old  Tom's  admonition,  for 
many  of  the  men  sickened  from  the  sudden  reple 
tion  and  some  died  of  it.  The  army  now  had  not 
only  supplies  but  also  a  reinforcement,  which  con 
sisted  of  the  Abenaqui  chief,  Natanis,  with  his 
brother,  Sebatis,  and  several  of  his  tribe,  all  these 
Indians  having  distantly  accompanied  the  troops, 
unseen,  from  the  Dead  River.  They  had  feared 
that,  in  the  wilderness,  the  army  might  receive 
them  as  enemies.  These  allies  were  welcomed  as 
compensating  slightly  for  the  defection  of  the  en 
tire  third  division,  which,  through  the  misunder 
standing  or  disobedience  of  Enos,  had  gone  back 
in  its  entirety,  with  the  medicine-chest  and  a  large 
stock  of  provisions,  when  Arnold  had  ordered  its 
incapacitated  men  returned  to  Norridgewock. 

The  army  made  a  halt  at  the  French  settlements, 
while  Colonel  Arnold  distributed  among  the  Cana 
dians  a  printed  manifesto  furnished  him  by  General 
Washington,  of  which  the  purpose  was  to  enlist 
Canadians  to  the  cause  of  the  revolted  colonies. 
On  the  7th  of  November  the  two  divisions,  now 
together  and  numbering  only  six  hundred  men,  were 
four  leagues  from  the  St.  Lawrence.  Hope  and 
expectation  had  reawakened.  Around  the  camp- 
fire  that  night  there  were  conjectures  as  to  how 
and  when  the  attack  on  Quebec  would  be  made; 


172  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

as  to  how  it  was  at  present  garrisoned  and  forti 
fied  ;  as  to  what  the  army  from  New  York,  under 
Schuyler  and  Montgomery,  must  have  done  by  this 
time  in  the  vicinity  of  Montreal ;  as  to  when  Colonel 
Arnold  should  receive  replies  to  the  messages  he 
had  sent  by  Indians  to  those  commanders ;  as  to 
when  the  two  armies  would  unite ;  as  to  which  side 
would  be  taken  by  the  different  elements  of  Canada's 
population,  —  the  old  French  aristocracy,  the  Cath 
olic  priesthood,  the  French  peasants,  the  few  British 
and  Irish  immigrants  who  had  come  in  since  the 
English  had  taken  the  country  from  the  French. 
Thus  far,  the  humble  habit ans,  at  least,  had  given 
the  Americans  kindly  welcome,  calling  them  nos 
parivres  frtres  and  refusing  payment  for  lodging 
and  food  in  their  little  farmhouses.  Again  and 
again  was  told  the  story  of  Wolfe's  victory  in  '59, 
and  it  was  questioned  whether  the  American  com 
manders  would  ascend  to  the  Heights  of  Abraham 
to  attack,  as  he  had  done,  or  would  assail  the  city 
on  some  other  side. 

Arnold's  boldly  outlined,  resolute  countenance,  with 
the  fire  in  the  eyes,  and  the  look  of  inward  planning, 
had  the  prophetic  aspect  of  victory,  and  throughout 
the  little  army  confidence  grew  apace.  Lieutenant 
Simpson's  voice  and  Tom  MacAlister's  fiddle  now 
sounded  out  blithely.  Even  the  cold  was  less 
heeded.  A  deeply  thrilling  expectancy  glowed  in 


THE   MARCH   THROUGH  MAINE.  1 73 

Dick,  making  him  view  things  about  him  as  in  a 
kind  of  dream. 

"Sure,  the  Promised  Land  seems  to  be  coming 
into  sight,  after  all,"  said  old  Tom,  to  the  grumbler 
who  marched  ahead  of  him.  The  army  had  broken 
camp  and  was  marching  towards  the  St.  Lawrence. 

"  Who  said  it  wasn't  ? "  queried  the  other ;  but  he 
added,  a  moment  later,  "  Though  we  haven't  set  foot 
on  it  yet,  and  as  for  what's  in  sight,  all  I  can  see 
ahead  is  woods,  with  a  parcel  of  ragged  walking 
corpses  trailing  through." 

They  were,  indeed,  a  procession  of  sorry-looking 
creatures.  Unkempt,  ill-shaven,  limping  from  foot- 
soreness,  bending  forward  from  the  habit  induced  by 
fatigue,  sunken  of  cheek,  haggard  of  eye  and  fea 
ture,  half  naked,  many  of  them  barefoot,  bearing  their 
rifles  and  baggage  as  heavy  burdens,  they  were  an 
army  more  fitted  to  appall  by  their  ghastly  aspect 
than  by  military  formidableness.  So  they  plodded 
through  the  forest. 

On  Thursday,  November  Qth,  blinking  their  eyes 
at  the  sudden  light  as  they  emerged  from  the  shades, 
Dick  and  MacAlister  stepped  out  in  file  from  the 
woods,  presently  came  to  a  halt,  drawn  up  in  line 
with  the  little  army,  and  stood  staring  in  a  kind  of 
stupid  wonder  at  the  scene  before  them,  —  first  a 
clear  space  sloping  gradually,  next  a  wide  river  flow 
ing  tranquilly,  a  few  vessels  moored  in  the  river,  then 


THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

some  houses  and  walls  massed  irregularly  at  the  base 
of  high  cliffs,  and  finally,  at  the  top  of  these  cliffs, 
a  huddle  of  fortifications,  towers,  spires,  and  roofs, 
and,  over  all  else,  the  flag  of  England. 

"'Tis  Quebec,  lad  !  "  said  old  Tom,  in  a  singularly 
dry  tone,  little  above  a  whisper ;  "  the  Promised 
Land ! " 

Dick  made  no  answer,  but  stood  gazing  with 
moistened  eyes,  unable  to  speak  for  the  emotion 
that  stirred  within  him. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

WITHIN    THE    WALLS    OF    QUEBEC. 

To  be  in  front  of  Quebec  was  one  thing,  but  to 
be  inside  of  it  was  another.  Dick  could  only  bide 
in  patience,  depending  on  the  doings  of  those  in 
authority,  and  on  circumstance,  for  his  hoped-for 
entrance  into  the  city  and  meeting  with  Catherine 
de  St.  Valier. 

There  was  neither  any  visible  sign  of  the  army 
from  the  province  of  New  York,  nor  any  news  from 
it.  Dick  was  promptly  assigned  to  duty  with  a  party 
sent  to  look  for  boats,  that  the  army  might  at  the 
chosen  time  cross  from  Point  Levi,  near  which  it 
camped,  to  the  Quebec  side  of  the  river.  Neither 
Dick  nor  any  of  his  comrades  found  craft  of  any 
kind ;  instead,  they  got,  from  the  habitans,  the 
information  that  the  British  at  Quebec  had  re 
cently  removed  or  destroyed  all  the  boats  about 
Point  Levi.  So  the  coming  of  the  American  army 
had  been  expected !  The  inference  from  this  fact, 
and  from  the  non-arrival  of  word  from  the  New  York 
army,  was  that  Arnold's  Indian  messengers  had  be- 


THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

trayed  his  purpose  to  the  enemy  in  Quebec,  and  time 
proved  this  conclusion  true.  There  was  naught  to 
do  but  remain  at  Point  Levi  and  search  the  river 
side  afar  for  boats. 

In  a  short  time  this  quest  resulted  in  the  assem 
bling  of  forty  birch  canoes,  obtained  from  Canadians 
and  Indians,  with  forty  Indians  to  navigate  them. 
But  now  came  windy,  stormy  weather,  in  which  the 
roughness  of  the  river  made  impossible  a  crossing  in 
such  fragile  craft. 

During  this  period  of  discomfort  in  the  camp, 
intelligence  began  to  come,  through  the  inhabi 
tants,  of  the  state  of  affairs  in  Quebec.  Gen 
eral  Carleton,  the  governor,  was  away,  up  the  St. 
Lawrence,  perhaps  directing  movements  against  the 
army  from  New  York,  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of 
Montreal  But  the  defences  were  being  strengthened 
and  the  garrison  reinforced,  under  the  direction  of 
the  lieutenant-governor,  Caramhe,  and  of  the  veteran 
Colonel  Maclean,  who  had  returned  from  Sorel  with 
the  Royal  Highland  Emigrants,  three  hundred  Scotch 
men  enlisted  by  him  at  Quebec.  Recruits  had  come 
also  from  Nova  Scotia  and  elsewhere.  Quebec  had 
observed  the  colonial  troops  camped  between  woods 
and  river,  and  the  military  and  official  people  despised 
and  laughed  at  them.  The  merchants  and  business 
folk  disliked  Governor  Carleton  for  his  affiliation  ex 
clusively  with  the  official  and  military  classes  and  the 


WITHIN   THE    WALLS   OF  QUEBEC. 

old  French  aristocracy,  but  would  nevertheless  stand 
stanchly  for  English  rule  and  the  defence  of  the 
city.  The  French  seigneurs,  reconciled  to  the  treaty 
of  1763,  had  no  reason  to  desire  a  change  of  govern 
ment,  and  it  was  likely  that  the  priesthood,  the  arti 
sans,  and  the  peasants  would  be  neutral  save  when 
favoring  the  winning  side. 

Such  reports  helped  to  furnish  camp  talk,  and 
Dick  was  as  interested  in  it  as  any  one  was,  but  the 
walled  town  that  loomed  high  across  the  wide  river 
had  for  him  another  interest.  He  would  stand  gaz 
ing  at  it  by  the  hour,  wondering  in  what  part  of  it 
she  was,  and  what  would  be  the  manner  of  his  first 
sight  of  her.  When  he  saw  young  Burr,  of  Arnold's 
staff,  set  forth  in  a  sledge,  and  in  a  priest's  disguise, 
from  a  friendly  monastery,  at  a  distance  from  the 
camp,  with  a  guide,  Dick  promptly  guessed  the  mis 
sion,  the  bearing  of  word  from  Arnold  to  the  New 
York  army ;  and  for  once  Dick  did  not  envy  another  a 
task  of  peril,  for  Dick  preferred  now  to  remain  near 
Quebec. 

Four  days  after  the  army's  arrival  at  Point  Levi, 
there  came  at  last  a  messenger  from  General  Mont 
gomery,  whom  Schuyler's  illness  had  left  in  supreme 
command  of  the  expedition  from  New  York  Province. 
His  news  set  the  camp  cheering.  The  town  of  St. 
John's,  which  the  British  had  retaken  after  Arnold's 
capture  of  it,  had  fallen  to  Montgomery  on  the  3d 


1/8  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

of  November,  after  a  siege  of  seven  weeks.  The 
New  York  general  was  to  have  proceeded  thence  to 
Montreal,  capture  that  town,  and  come  down  the 
river  to  join  Arnold.  On  top  of  these  inspiriting 
tidings,  came  the  joyfully  exciting  orders  to  make 
ready  for  an  immediate  crossing  of  the  river. 

At  about  ten  o'clock  that  night,  Monday,  Novem 
ber  1 3th,  the  troops  paraded  noiselessly  on  the  beach 
near  a  mill  at  Point  Levi.  Dick's  heart  exulted  as 
he  found  himself  still  in  the  van  when  the  riflemen, 
directed  in  the  gloom  by  the  low-spoken  orders  of 
Morgan,  stepped  into  the  canoes  that  awaited  them 
at  the  edge  of  the  dark  river.  Silently,  at  the 
word,  each  boat  pushed  off,  the  Indians  dipped  their 
paddles,  and  the  men  found  themselves  in  the  swift 
current.  Dick  looked  over  the  shoulder  of  old  Tom 
towards  the  distant  frowning  heights,  and  recalled  the 
story  of  how  Wolfe,  traversing  the  same  river  towards 
those  same  heights,  on  that  fateful  night  sixteen 
years  before,  to  find  death  and  immortal  fame  on 
the  morrow,  had  recited  some  lines  from  Gray's 
"  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard  "  and  said  he  would 
rather  be  their  author  than  take  Quebec.  Dick's 
emotion  on  realizing  that  he  was  where  great  history 
had  been  made,  mingled  presently  with  the  one 
image  that  dominated  his  mind  whenever  his  eyes 
or  thoughts  were  on  Quebec. 

But  now  and  then  an  incident  occurred  to  disturb 


WITHIN   THE    WALLS   OF  QUEBEC. 

his  contemplations.  The  canoe  behind  him  upset, 
and  there  was  excitement,  with  loss  of  time,  in  res 
cuing  its  occupants,  some  of  whom  had  to  cross  the 
river  half  submerged  in  the  chill  water,  each  holding 
to  the  stern  of  a  canoe.  Dick's  boat,  overcrowded, 
spilt  a  few  of  its  passengers  without  entirely  over 
turning,  but  no  man  was  lost.  The  course  lay  be 
tween  two  of  the  enemy's  war-vessels,  a  frigate  and 
a  sloop,  yet  the  riflemen  passed  undiscovered.  The 
transit  seemed  interminable,  much  to  Dick's  wonder, 
for  from  Point  Levi  the  opposite  shore  had  not 
appeared  to  be  half  as  far  as  it  was. 

At  last  the  canoe  glided  along  the  shore  of 
Wolfe's  Cove,  at  the  base  of  a  steep  ascent  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  the  town,  and  Dick  leaped  ashore 
after  Lieutenant  Simpson,  on  the  spot  where  the 
English  general  had  landed  on  that  September  night 
in  '59.  The  little  landing-place  was  soon  thronged 
with  the  dark  figures  of  the  men  from  the  first 
boats,  and  Dick,  ere  he  had  taken  time  to  look 
around,  was  stealthily  scurrying  up  the  slanting 
path,  one  of  a  party  quickly  sent  in  different  direc 
tions  by  Morgan  to  reconnoitre  the  town's  approaches. 

Clambering  up  the  way  by  which  Wolfe's  army 
had  ascended,  he  looked  back  and  saw  the  dark  river 
dotted  in  a  long  line  with  the  boats  of  the  crossing 
army.  The  continued  silence  testified  either  to  the 
skill  or  good  luck  of  his  comrades,  or  to  the  blind- 


180  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

ness  of  the  watches  on  the  British  vessels  and  on 
the  guard-boats  that  patrolled  the  river.  Reaching  the 
top  of  the  precipice  and  standing  at  last  on  the  Plains 
of  Abraham,  Dick  made  sure  that  the  head  of  the 
ascent  was  unguarded,  and  he  thereupon,  in  obe 
dience  to  his  orders,  descended  back  to  the  landing- 
place,  and  reported.  More  of  the  army  had  now 
arrived,  and  in  an  uninhabited  house  at  the  Cove  a 
fire  had  been  made,  at  which  Dick  went  to  warm 
himself  and  found  old  Tom. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  a  sudden  angry 
booming  in  the  river  proclaimed  that  the  British  had 
discovered  the  boats  then  crossing.  But  the  bark 
was  not  followed  by  a  bite,  and  at  last  the  entire 
army  was  safe  on  land  at  the  Cove.  The  men  were 
in  eager  expectation  of  an  immediate  attack,  which 
Captain  Morgan  openly  showed  himself  to  favor ;  but 
Colonel  Arnold  probably  supposed  from  the  firing 
that  the  garrison  would  be  on  the  alert,  and  so,  with 
guards  set,  the  troops  passed  the  night,  as  best  they 
could,  at  the  Cove. 

On  Tuesday  the  gaunt  army  marched  up  the 
precipice  and  stood  where  Wolfe's  regiments  had 
formed  on  the  day  they  took  Quebec  from  France. 
Far  in  front  lay  the  town,  behind  its  walls  and  bas 
tions,  and  by  them  cut  off  upon  its  promontory. 
Old  Tom  knew  the  place  from  description,  and 
pointed  out,  to  Dick,  Cape  Diamond  at  the  right, 


WITHIN   THE    WALLS   OF  QUEBEC.  l8l 

and  the  citadel  crowning  that  height  ;  at  the  left, 
close  to  a  bastion,  the  open  gate  of  St.  John's,  where 
Montcalm  fell;  between  these  two,  the  St.  Louis 
Gate,  the  towers  of  churches,  and  the  roofs  of  official 
residences.  The  soldiers  waited,  while  the  officers 
held  council. 

Suddenly,  from  the  wall-encircled  city,  came  the 
sound  of  drums  beating  to  arms,  and  soon  the  walls 
became  thronged  with  troops  and  citizens.  At  the 
same  time  the  gate  of  St.  John's  was  closed.  Colonel 
Arnold  thereupon  marched  his  men  towards  the  town 
and  paraded  them  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the 
walls,  ordering  them  to  give  three  cheers,  which  they 
did  heartily,  Dick  tingling  with  the  expectation  of 
battle. 

But  the  enemy  stayed  behind  his  walls,  even 
though  presently  the  Americans  fired  a  few  taunting 
volleys  at  him  ;  and,  after  awhile,  their  demonstra 
tion  being  answered  from  the  ramparts  by  a  large 
piece  of  artillery,  they  marched  back  to  a  safe  dis 
tance  and  encamped.  That  evening  Colonel  Arnold 
sent  a  flag,  demanding  surrender,  but  the  Highlanders 
guarding  the  city  gate  fired  on  it.  Then  ensued 
more  days  of  waiting. 

The  officers  quartered  in  some  now  abandoned 
country  residences  and  farmhouses,  and  many  of  the 
men  were  lodged  in  peasants'  cottages  and  barns. 
During  these  days  of  inaction,  riflemen  were  sent  to 


1 82  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

the  suburbs,  outside  the  walls,  to  annoy  the  enemy, 
as  they  had  annoyed  him  in  Boston  from  the  hills 
about  Cambridge.  While  engaged  in  this,  in  the 
suburb  of  St.  John's,  Dick  and  MacAlister,  by  crawl 
ing  away  betimes  on  knees  and  elbows,  narrowly 
escaped  the  capture  that  befell  one  of  the  Vir 
ginians  who  lay  concealed  with  them  in  a  thicket,  a 
party  of  the  enemy  having  made  a  sortie  from  the 
gate. 

When  they  got  back  to  camp,  they  learned  that 
fresh  news  had  come  from  Montgomery,  —  that 
Montreal  had  capitulated  to  him  on  the  I2th,  but 
that  Governor  Carleton  had  contrived  to  elude  him 
and  was  supposed  to  have  fled  down  the  river,  bound 
for  Quebec.  Orders  were  now  given  to  be  in  readi 
ness  to  march,  it  having  been  decided  to  retire  up 
the  river  to  Point  aux  Trembles,  to  await  Mont 
gomery  at  greater  distance  from  the  enemy.  Dick's 
heart  fell  at  thought  of  going,  even  for  a  short  time 
and  a  score  of  miles,  further  from  Quebec.  Before 
he  had  time  to  brood  over  the  matter,  he  was  sum 
moned  to  wait  on  Captain  Hendricks,  whom  he  found 
sitting  with  Colonel  Arnold  and  Captain  Morgan  at 
a  table  in  the  chief  room  of  a  stone  farmhouse. 
Hendricks  returned  his  salute  with  a  friendly  look, 
Morgan  with  an  approving  one,  and  Arnold  with  a 
pleasant  but  piercing  gaze  and  the  words  :  "  How 
would  you  like  to  go  into  Quebec,  and  learn  the  exact 


WITHIN  THE    WALLS   OF  QUEBEC.  183 

strength  of  each  battery  there  and  of  each  force  of 
men  in  the  garrison  ?  " 

When  Dick  grasped  the  full  sense  of  this  question, 
which  he  was  delayed  in  doing  by  his  mental  notice 
of  the  present  harmony  between  Arnold  and  Morgan 
after  an  open  quarrel  over  the  short  allowance  of 
flour  to  the  riflemen,  he  waited  a  moment  for  breath, 
then  answered  : 

"  I  should  be  delighted,  sir !  " 

"It  is  necessary,"  Arnold  went  on,  "that  we  have 
information  more  reliable  than  the  reports  we  are 
getting  from  the  inhabitants,  for  no  two  of  these 
reports  agree.  There  is  a  method  just  now  by  which 
a  shrewd  man  may  easily  enter  the  city,  without 
arousing  suspicion  there.  This  method  requires  that 
our  man  shall  play  a  part.  I  am  told  you  have  ability 
in  that  direction." 

Dick  recalled  his  Boston  escapes,  and  bowed. 

"Here,"  said  Arnold,  handing  Dick  a  sealed  mis 
sive  from  the  table,  "  is  a  letter  from  General  Carle- 
ton,  who  is  now  somewhere  up  the  river,  to  Colonel 
Maclean  in  Quebec.  The  messenger  who  carried  it 
has  fallen  into  our  hands.  It  was  so  carelessly  sealed 
that  we  were  able  to  open  and  refasten  it  without 
seeming  to  have  broken  the  wax.  You  are  to  per 
sonate  the  messenger,  carry  the  letter  to  Colonel 
Maclean,  get  the  information  we  want,  and  send  it  in 
a  way  I  shall  tell  you  of,  —  for  you  will  probably  be 


1 84  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

kept  in  the  city,  and  any  failure  in  your  own  attempt 
to  get  away  might  keep  your  information  from  reach 
ing  us.  After  that,  you  may  escape  when  you  best  can. 
You  understand,  your  report  to  me  is  not  to  be  put 
to  the  risk  that  your  body  will  doubtless  undergo  in 
getting  back  from  the  enemy." 

"  I  understand." 

"  As  General  Carleton's  message  doesn't  contain 
any  description  of  the  bearer,  but  merely  tells 
Maclean  to  enroll  him  into  service,  you  may 
assume  what  character  you  please.  The  messen 
ger  was  a  Tory  hunter,  from  the  province  of  New 
York,  dressed  much  like  you.  So  it  may  be  well 
to  pretend  that  character,  wearing  your  own  clothes. 
Captain  Hendricks  tells  me  you  know  enough  of 
Montreal  and  the  intervening  country,  from  descrip 
tion,  to  answer  knowingly  if  you  should  be  ques 
tioned  about  it.  Sit  yonder,  and  read  this  letter 
from  General  Montgomery  to  me,  and  this  copy 
of  General  Carleton's  message  to  Colonel  Maclean. 
They  will  let  you  know  how  matters  were  at 
Montreal,  and  with  General  Carleton,  when  the 
messenger  left." 

Dick  glanced  down  at  the  papers  pushed  towards 
him,  and  resumed  heed  of  Arnold's  instructions, 
which  continued  while  the  speaker  now  and  then 
jotted  down  a  word  or  two  on  a  piece  of  paper : 

"  You  will  leave  the  camp  with  this  pass,  on  the 


WITHIN  THE    WALLS  OF  QUEBEC.  185 

side  farthest  from  the  town,  so  it  may  appear  you 
are  going  to  reconnoitre  up  the  river ;  for  your 
destination  must  of  course  be  a  secret,  lest  some 
informant  of  the  enemy's  might  follow  and  expose 
you.  You  will  go  around  the  camp  by  land,  and 
reach  the  city  after  dark.  The  letter  you  carry 
will  get  you  admittance  without  delay.  Once  within 
the  walls,  obtain  the  information  as  you  are  best 
able  to.  Put  it  in  writing,  and  take  it  to  a  woman 
called  Mere  Frappeur,  who  keeps  a  wine  shop  in  the 
upper  town,  near  the  Palace  Gate.  She  is  an  Irish 
woman,  the  widow  of  a  French  fish-monger,  and  she 
has  a  boat  in  which  she  sometimes  goes  fishing  her 
self.  When  you  meet  her,  if  no  one  else  is  about, 
whistle  'Molly,  my  Treasure,'  —  do  you  know  the 
tune  ? " 

Dick,  who  had  heard  Tom  fiddle  it  a  thousand 
times,  softly  whistled  the  opening  part.  Arnold 
nodded,  and  went  on  : 

"  If  you  look  at  her  in  such  a  manner  as  to  show 
that  the  tune  is  a  signal,  she  will  soon  come  to  an 
understanding  with  you.  You  will  ask  her,  in  my 
name,  to  take  your  written  message,  in  her  boat, 
at  night,  close  to  the  shore  immediately  on  this 
side  of  the  British  stockade  near  the  foot  of  Cape 
Diamond.  There  she  will  whistle  '  Molly,  my  Treas 
ure,'  and  will  be  answered  with  the  same  tune  by  a 
man  whom  I  shall  have  in  waiting  there  each  night, 


1 86  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

from  to-morrow.  She  will  give  him  the  message  and 
afterwards  report  to  you.  When  you  are  sure  the 
information  is  safe  in  that  man's  hands,  you  may 
escape  and  report  to  me,  when  you  find  opportunity 
or  create  it.  I  have  made  some  notes  here,  that  you 
will  fix  in  mind  before  you  start  ;  but  destroy  that 
paper  and  my  pass,  as  soon  as  you  are  clear  of  the 
camp,  so  that  you  will  carry  no  papers  to  Quebec 
other  than  General  Carleton's  letter." 

Dick  took  the  sheet  handed  to  him,  and  read  the 
words  :  "  Strength  of  each  battery,  —  number  men 
in  each  force,  —  Mere  Frappeur,  —  wine  shop  near 
Palace  Gate,  —  Molly,  my  Treasure,  —  boat,  —  each 
night,  —  shore  this  side  stockade  near  foot  Cape 
Diamond."  While  the  three  officers  discussed  in 
low  tones  at  one  end  of  the  table,  Dick  sat  at  the 
other  end,  and  mem'orized  every  circumstance  men 
tioned  in  the  letters  of  Montgomery  and  Carleton. 
He  then  rose,  and,  being  noticed  by  Colonel  Arnold, 
returned  those  two  letters,  and  took  his  leave,  retain 
ing  the  pass,  Arnold's  brief  notes,  and  the  genuine 
letter  from  Carleton  to  Maclean.  He  was  followed 
from  the  room  by  the  kindly  smile  of  Captain 
Hendricks. 

It  was  now  almost  nightfall.  Dick  returned  to 
his  quarters,  in  a  barn  loft,  put  from  his  pockets 
and  attire  whatever  might  betray  him,  and  saw  with 
satisfaction  that  his  clothes,  now  mended  by  old 


WITHIN  THE    WALLS   OF  QUEBEC.  l8/ 

Tom  and  replenished  from  the  stock  of  a  dead 
comrade,  no  longer  bore  striking  evidence  of  his 
march  through  Maine.  He  assured  himself  for  the 
thousandth  time  that  the  miniature  was  still  in  its 
hiding-place  ;  made  a  hasty  supper  with  his  mess  on 
the  barn  floor  below ;  called  MacAlister  aside  and 
told  of  his  coming  absence  on  reconnoitring  duty ; 
shook  the  old  fellow's  hand,  and  was  gone. 

"  Guid  luck,  and  a  merry  meeting  in  this  waurld  or 
some  ither !  "  was  old  Tom's  farewell. 

Dick  tore  up  his  pass  as  soon  as  it  had  been  hon 
ored  at  last  by  the  outermost  picket ;  for  in  his  zeal 
to  respect  his  commander's  every  wish  he  was  deter 
mined  to  make  so  wide  a  detour  in  rounding  the 
camp  that  he  could  not  possibly  come  near  another 
sentry.  The  night  was  well  advanced  when  he 
strode  finally  between  the  colonial  army  and  the 
frowning  city.  Skulking  past  Mount's  Tavern,  giv 
ing  a  wide  berth  to  every  farmhouse  or  suburban 
residence  that  might  perchance  shelter  some  Ameri 
can  force  on  special  duty,  he  stood  at  last  between 
the  suburb  of  St.  Louis  and  that  of  St.  John's,  and 
hesitated  as  to  which  gate  to  approach.  He  chose 
that  of  St.  John's,  and,  hastening  up  to  it  with  an 
air  of  importance  and  fatigue,  was  challenged  at 
some  distance  by  a  sentry  on  the  wall.  His  prompt 
account  of  himself  got  him  speedily  through  the 
wicket,  and  soon  a  guard  officer  was  escorting  him 


1 88  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

to  Colonel  Maclean,  who  was  for  the  time  quartered 
in  a  house  near  the  bastion  of  La  Potasse,  in  order 
to  be  close  to  the  barracks  and  St.  John's  Gate. 

Maclean  sat  in  a  room  on  a  level  with  the  street, 
holding  vigil  with  some  officers.  Dick  faced  him 
across  a  table  on  which  were  a  candelabra,  writing 
materials,  and  a  great  mass  of  papers.  The  British 
commander,  Scotchiest  of  the  Scotch,  was  rugged, 
frowning,  and  sharp-speaking,  but  seemed  to  have 
a  solid  substratum  of  good-nature.  He  read  Carle- 
ton's  letter  in  silence,  then  scrutinized  Dick  with 
gray  eyes  as  hard  as  granite,  and  pelted  him  with 
a  succession  of  gruff  questions,  to  which  Dick  replied 
with  quiet  readiness  and  a  steady  return  of  look. 
The  questions  were  all  on  matters  covered  by  the 
letter,  which,  Dick  could  easily  see,  the  sagacious 
Scot  did  not  suspect  of  having  been  opened.  Dick's 
answers  evidently  convinced  the  colonel  that  the 
letter  had  not  changed  bearers  since  leaving  General 
Carleton's  hand.  For  the  colonel's  address  was  a 
little  less  gruff,  when  he  presently  asked  : 
"What  is  your  name,  my  guid  mon  ? " 
"Tammas  MacAlister,"  replied  Dick,  under  a 
prompt  inspiration,  and  added,  in  imitation  of  the 
Fiddler's  manner  of  speech,  "  Ye  maun  hae  kenned 
my  fayther,  and  his  fayther  afore  him,  that  baith 
piped  ahint  the  heels  of  Charlie  Stuart  in  '45, 
though  the  present  generation  is  loyal,  soul  and  body, 


WITHIN   THE    WALLS   OF  QUEBEC.  189 

to  the  powers  that  be.  I  oft  heard  them  tell  of  the 
Macleans,  and  what  a  grand  family  they  are,  —  beg 
ging  your  pardon." 

"  I  dare  say,"  answered  the  colonel,  his  face 
having  lost  its  rigor.  "Though  I  don't  mind  at 
the  moment,  I  maun  hae  kenned  your  forebears  in 
days  lang  syne.  Tis  strange  I  didn't  heed  your 
Scottish  tongue  sooner.  Ye're  the  build  and  face 
of  a  true  Caledonian,  and  ye'll  mak'  a  braw  recruit 
for  the  Royal  Emigrants.  Captain,  let  MacAlister 
mess  and  quarter  with  your  company  for  the  time 
being,  and  see  that  he  reports  to  me  to-morrow  at 
ten  o'clock."  The  officer  addressed  sent  an  attend 
ant  for  a  sergeant,  in  whose  charge  Dick  was  placed, 
and  by  whom  he  was  soon  assigned  to  a  bunk  in  the 
adjacent  barracks,  his  mind  in  a  whirl  of  emotions, 
thoughts,  and  plans,  all  regarding  his  military  mis 
sion  and  his  intended  visit  to  Catherine  de  St. 
Valier. 

The  next  morning,  at  breakfast,  Dick  studied 
carefully  each  man  of  the  mess.  Pretending  to 
a  previous  knowledge  acquired  through  a  seafaring 
uncle,  he  asked  an  old  Quebec  man  whether  there 
were  any  St.  Valiers  still  in  the  city.  He  soon 
learned  that  Gerard  and  Catherine  were  the  last 
of  their  branch  of  the  family,  that  it  was  an  im 
poverished  branch,  and  that  they  were  now  living 
with  their  unmarried  uncle  in  the  latter's  house  in 


THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Palace  Street,  near  the  street  that  led  from  the 
St.  John's  Gate. 

Dick  next,  observing  that  a  certain  prating  cor 
poral  affected  expert  knowledge  of  the  town's 
defences,  and  had  a  truly  Scotch  tenacity  of  asser 
tion,  lured  him  subtly  into  an  argument  regarding 
the  present  state  of  Quebec  as  compared  with  that 
in  Wolfe's  time ;  and  thus  elicited,  as  to  the  disposi 
tion  of  artillery,  a  statement  so  exact  and  full  that,  to 
be  relied  on,  it  required  only  to  agree  with  some 
report  from  another  source.  Dick  secretly  assigned 
each  section  of  a  piece  of  biscuit  to  represent  some 
particular  post  named  by  the  corporal,  and  on  that 
section  he  made  tiny  finger-nail  scratches  equal  in 
number  to  the  cannon  said  to  be  at  the  post.  Being 
under  orders  to  remain  with  the  sergeant,  he  found, 
by  using  his  eyes  skilfully  while  about  the  barracks, 
that  the  corporal's  account  was  correct  as  far  as  con 
cerned  certain  guns  in  the  vicinity  of  St.  John's  Gate. 

During  the  morning  there  came  to  the  barracks 
a  barber  who  had  customers  among  soldiers  stationed 
at  different  parts  of  the  town.  Now  that  the  troops 
remained  near  their  posts  when  off  duty,  ready  to 
respond  in  case  of  sudden  attack,  this  practitioner, 
instead  of  keeping  shop  as  usually,  made  the  rounds 
to  visit  the  customers  who  could  not  visit  him.  Dick 
was  shaved  by  him,  and,  during  the  operation,  led 
him  to  discourse  upon  those  parts  of  the  city  to 


WITHIN   THE    WALLS   OF  QUEBEC.  IQI 

which  duty  called  him.  The  observant  barber  inci 
dentally  let  fall  numerous  bits  of  information  that 
confirmed,  if  they  did  not  augment,  certain  details 
of  the  knowing  corporal's  disclosures. 

This  barber  and  the  corporal  had  the  knack  pos 
sessed  by  small  boys  and  dogs,  of  nosing  into  every 
opening  whence  anything  might  be  seen,  and  had 
come  by  far  more  and  far  other  information  than 
they  were  properly  entitled  to  possess.  Dick  had 
begun  the  day  with  the  knowledge,  won  in  his  own 
experience,  that  in  every  score  of  people  there  are 
two  or  three  such  investigating  persons.  Keen 
observation  had  enabled  him  to  single  out  the  two 
such  from  the  host  of  men  he  met  in  the  barracks, 
and  by  the  closest  attention  he  had  picked  out,  from 
the  chaff  of  their  talk,  the  few  grains  that  were  to 
his  purpose.  It  was  not,  therefore,  mere  good  luck 
that  had  brought  him  so  promptly  a  better  approxi 
mate  account  of  the  city's  heavy  armament  than  he 
could  have  obtained  in  hours  of  suspicious  loitering 
around  the  various  batteries. 

At  ten  o'clock  he  reported  to  Colonel  Maclean  at 
the  latter's  temporary  headquarters.  He  had  to  give 
an  account  of  his  supposed  journey  from  Montreal 
and  of  how  he  had  contrived  to  pass  the  American 
camp.  Maclean  said  it  would  be  useless  to  send  him 
back  with  a  message  to  General  Carleton,  as  the 
latter's  whereabouts  would  doubtless  remain  unknown 


192  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

until  his  arrival  at  Quebec,  which  might  occur  at  any 
time.  He  proposed,  therefore,  that  Dick  should 
enlist  in  the  Royal  Highland  Emigrants. 

Dick,  who  had  borne  in  mind  from  the  first  that 
his  task  must  be  done  ere  the  arrival  of  Carleton,  as 
the  governor  would  know  him  from  the  genuine 
messenger,  replied  that  to  serve  in  the  Emigrants 
was  the  ambition  of  his  life.  The  colonel  asked 
Dick  what  soldiering  he  had  seen.  Dick  replied, 
"  Nane,  afore  the  fighting  between  the  Lakes  and 
Montreal.  But,  considering  the  stock  I'm  of,  I 
should  tak'  well  to  the  profession,  seeing  that  I  hae 
done  weel  at  most  things  I've  put  a  hand  to,  from 
the  rifle  to  the  quill  pen."  At  the  last  words,  the 
colonel  looked  at  the  mass  of  papers  on  his  table,  as 
Dick  had  designed  he  should  do,  and  said,  "  If  ye 
have  skill  at  pen  waurk,  there's  a  task  of  copying  ye 
might  set  to,  before  we  mak'  a  Royal  Emigrant  of 
ye.  My  secretary  is  more  useful  at  the  new  fortifi 
cations  these  times,  having  the  gift  of  construction  in 
works  as  well  as  in  words  ;  yet  I'm  sore  wishful  for 
a  copy  of  these  letters,  for  my  ain  keeping." 

Dick  repressed  his  elation,  and  it  was  soon  ar 
ranged  that  he  should  forthwith  write  out  a  copy 
of  some  correspondence  that  the  colonel  set  before 
him.  Maclean  then  left  the  office,  to  make  his  usual 
rounds,  and  Dick  was  left  alone  with  an  adjutant,  a 
door-attendant,  and  two  guards  at  the  entrance.  The 


WITHIN   THE    WALLS  OF  QUEBEC.  193 

adjutant  sat  writing  at  one  side  of  the  table,  Dick 
at  the  opposite  side,  both  using  ink  from  the  same 
receptacle. 

To  his  disappointment,  Dick  found  the  correspond 
ence  to  concern  a  bygone  question  of  misappro 
priated  supplies,  and  hence  to  be  of  no  value  as 
information  for  his  commander.  While  he  wrote, 
his  eye  ranged  the  table,  at  intervals,  and  took  in 
every  visible  bit  of  writing  thereon,  making  note  of 
such  sheets,  wholly  or  partly  in  view,  as  contained 
matter  arranged  in  columns.  He  acquainted  himself 
with  the  exact  location  of  three  such  sheets  among 
the  countless  others  that  encumbered  the  table. 
He  then  waited  the  opportunity  that  would  come 
with  the  adjutant's  departure  from  the  room. 

But  the  adjutant,  whose  work  was  behind,  through 
his  having  accepted  more  than  his  regular  duties, 
continued  to  write.  Shortly  after  noon,  the  colonel 
returned,  with  some  of  his  staff,  and  had  dinner  in  the 
adjoining  room.  Dick  was  sent  to  dine  with  his  mess. 
He  made  short  work  of  dinner,  and  hastened  back, 
hoping  he  might  arrive  at  the  office  table  before 
the  adjutant,  who  was  to  have  dined  with  the 
colonel's  staff.  But  Dick  found  the  adjutant  already 
at  work,  an  odor  of  wine  about  him  telling  that  he 
had  finished  his  dinner.  The  colonel  and  the  other 
officers  presently  went  out,  as  they  had  done  in  the 
forenoon.  The  afternoon  passed  on  as  the  forenoon 


194  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

had,  with  the  difference  that,  outside  the  window, 
snow  began  to  fall.  Dick  utilized  some  of  the  time 
by  transcribing,  on  a  bare  sheet  of  paper,  the  state 
ment  he  had  recorded  on  his  piece  of  biscuit,  which 
he  now  set  before  him  on  the  table  as  if  intending 
presently  to  eat  it.  He  then  adroitly  slipped  the 
sheet  of  paper  from  the  table  to  his  lap  and  thrust 
it  carefully  beneath  his  jacket  with  his  left  hand 
while  continuing  to  write  with  the  other. 

When  the  gray  afternoon  began  to  darken,  Dick 
resolved  on  a  desperate  measure.  As  if  his  hunting- 
knife  galled  him,  he  took  it  from  his  belt  and  placed 
it  on  the  table,  with  its  point  thrust  under  the  ink 
stand.  A  few  minutes  later,  as  if  to  remove  it  out 
of  the  way  of  his  paper,  he  lifted  it  suddenly  in  such 
manner  that  it  overturned  the  inkstand,  deluging 
one  of  the  adjutant's  hands  with  ink.  That  officer 
arose  with  an  expression  of  disgust,  darted  an  angry 
look  at  Dick,  called  the  attendant  to  mop  up  the 
ink,  and  went  into  a  closet  to  wash  his  hand. 

Dick,  with  a  pretence  of  rescuing  the  papers  from 
the  spreading  pool  of  ink,  swiftly  grasped  the  three 
sheets  he  had  singled  out  and  placed  them,  each  on 
top  of  a  different  pile,  within  range  of  his  eye.  The 
adjutant,  returning  to  his  delayed  work,  did  not 
notice  what  rearrangement  Dick  had  made  of  the 
papers.  While  the  two  wrote  silently  on,  Dick 
scanned  the  farthest  of  the  three  papers.  He  soon 


WITHIN    THE    WALLS  OF  QUEBEC.  IQ5 

saw  that  it  was  a  list  of  provisions,  and  of  trivial  con 
sequence.  The  next  one  of  the  three  turned  out  to 
be  a  statement  of  arms  needed  to  complete  the  equip 
ment  of  a  certain  militia  company.  Dick  turned  his 
eye,  with  diminishing  hopes,  to  the  third  and  last. 
This  is  what  he  saw  there,  and  copied  in  feverish 
haste,  with  trembling  fingers  : 

In  garrison  at  Quebec,  November  1 7th. 

70  Royal  Fusileers. 
230  Royal  Emigrants. 

22  Artillery,  fire-workers,  etc. 
330  British  militia. 
543  Canadians. 
400  Seamen. 

50  Masters  and  men  of  vessels. 

35  Marines. 
1 20  Artificers. 


1800 

The  copy  of  this  return,  deluged  with  sand  in 
Dick's  impatience  to  dry  the  ink,  followed  the 
artillery  account  to  concealment,  and  Dick,  casting 
a  peculiar  smile  across  the  table  at  the  busily 
writing  adjutant,  went  on  copying  the  colonel's 
correspondence. 

Presently  candles  were  lighted  by  the  attendant. 
Then  in  came  Colonel  Maclean,  shaking  off  the  snow 
and  blustering  at  the  cold,  and  accompanied  by  two 
officers,  one  of  whom  said,  hastening  to  the  fireplace  : 


196  TJIE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"  I'll  wager  this  is  the  kind  of  weather  they've  been 
waiting  for,  though,  to  be  sure,  one  never  knows  when 
they  may  melt  away  in  the  night,  as  —  who  the  devil's 
that  ? " 

The  colonel  turned  to  look  where  the  speaker  did, 
but  saw  only  a  flying  figure  that  darted  through  the 
door,  plunged  past  the  guards,  and  was  gone  in  the 
falling  snow  and  gathering  gloom.  The  figure  was 
Dick's,  for  the  man  who  had  spoken  was  Lieutenant 
Blagdon. 

Dick  had  been  minded  for  an  instant  to  stay  and 
outface  him.  But  on  the  heels  of  that  impulse  had 
come  the  thought  that  Blagdon  knew  sufficient  that 
differed  from  the  name  and  nationality  and  other 
particulars  Dick  had  given  Maclean,  to  prove  the 
imposture,  and  that  the  word  of  a  well-known  Brit 
ish  officer  would  of  course  be  taken  against  Dick's. 
Hence  the  timely  bolt  for  the  street. 

He  had  turned  naturally  in  the  direction  that  led 
towards  Palace  Street,  at  which  thoroughfare  he 
arrived  without  having  attracted  attention,  his  rapid 
pace  being  that  which  a  soldier  might  use  in  carry 
ing  a  hurried  order.  He  knew  Palace  Street  by  its 
width  and  the  rich  appearance  of  its  houses.  Not 
looking  back  to  see  whether  a  pursuit  had  yet 
been  started,  he  turned  leftward  and  hastened  on, 
now  changing  his  gait  from  a  run  to  a  rapid  stride. 
Duty  required  that  he  should  first  make  safe  his 


WITHIN  THE    WALLS   OF  QUEBEC. 

information  by  finding  Mere  Frappeur  and  entrusting 
it  to  her.  He  asked  an  artisan  where  her  wine  shop 
was,  but  the  artisan  was  French  and  shook  his  head 
in  sign  of  not  understanding.  A  short  distance 
farther  on,  Dick  picked  out  an  English  face  among 
the  snow-pelted  passers-by,  and  repeated  his  ques 
tion. 

"  About  the  fifth  or  sixth  house  in  the  second  little 
street  to  the  right,"  replied  the  Englishman,  who  had 
the  look  of  a  merchant's  clerk ;  "  the  street  that 
turns  off  beyond  the  St.  Valier  house,  —  the  house 
with  the  large  garden." 

The  St.  Valier  house  !  Dick  would  have  to  pass  it, 
then,  on  his  way  to  Mere  Frappeur's  wine  shop !  He 
sprang  forward,  barely  taking  time  to  thank  his  in 
formant,  and  ran  plump  into  a  begowned  priest,  who, 
thrown  from  his  balance,  uttered  a  rapid  series  of 
words,  as  to  which  Dick  did  not  know  whether  they 
were  Latin  ejaculations  or  French  execrations.  Dick 
was  further  impeded  on  his  way  by  having  to  make 
room  for  a  squad  of  soldiers,  and  to  pass  round  a 
sledge  that  had  come  to  a  standstill  where  streets 
crossed.  He  now  cast  a  look  backward,  from  a 
slight  eminence,  and  saw.  a  half  dozen  troops  turn 
into  Palace  Street  where  he  had  turned  into  it.  One 
of  them  carried  a  lantern,  held  close  to  the  snow. 
Dick  knew  what  that,  meant, — they  were  tracing 
him  by  his  footprints  in  the  snow.  He  blamed  him- 


198  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

self  now  for  having,  in  his  desire  to  avoid  collisions, 
kept  so  clear  of  other  walkers. 

At  last  he  reached  the  street  indicated  by  his  in 
formant.  He  readily  recognized,  by  its  location  and 
the  great  garden  in  whose  midst  it  was  set,  the  St. 
Valier  residence.  Through  the  half-open  gate  in  the 
wall,  he  saw  a  light  in  the  two  windows  at  one  side 
of  the  wide  front  door  ;  and  the  momentary  sound  of 
confused  voices  told  him  that  a  numerous  assemblage 
was  within.  He  turned  into  the  little  street  that  ran 
by  the  long  side  wall  of  the  garden.  Presently  he 
passed  a  smaller  gate,  which  also  stood  open  and 
which  led  to  the  rear  of  the  grounds.  Just  across 
the  street  from  this  gate,  there  was  a  crowd  looking 
excitedly  in  through  the  open  door  of  a  narrow  one- 
story  house,  in  whose  lighted  window  appeared  the 
inscription,  "  C.  Frappeur,  Vins." 

"The  wine  shop,"  thought  Dick,  and,  as  he  ran 
across  the  street  towards  the  crowd,  he  asked  himself 
how  he  should  go  about  transacting  his  business  with 
Mere  Frappeur  in  the  presence  of  so  many  people 
and  in  the  brief  time  before  the  arrival  of  the  troops 
on  his  track.  He  edged  into  the  crowd  and  elbowed 
his  way  towards  the  door,  but  so  great  was  the  curios 
ity  of  the  people  to  see  what  was  within,  that  he  had 
considerable  strife  to  enter  the  shop.  The  crowd  re 
sented  his  forcible  passage,  and  jabbered  noisily  in 
French.  The  throng  in  the  shop  was  as  great  as  that 


WITHIN   THE    WALLS  OF  QUEBEC.  199 

without.  Dick  laboriously  pushed  his  way  to  the 
front.  "  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  ? "  quoth  the 
first  English  voice  that  Dick  had  heard  here, — that 
of  a  burly  subaltern  of  militia. 

"  I  must  see  Mere  Frappeur,"  cried  Dick. 

"  See  her,  then,"  replied  the  subaltern,  shoving 
Dick  forward,  and  pointing  to  a  bench,  on  which  she 
lay,  —  a  priest  at  her  head,  a  surgeon  at  her  feet. 
Mere  Frappeur  was  dead  from  the  accidental  dis 
charge  of  a  militia  captain's  pistol,  whose  owner 
had  been  getting  drunk  in  her  wine  shop. 

It  took  Dick  a  few  seconds  to  comprehend  the 
truth  and  to  consider  what  next  to  do.  He  turned 
and  struggled  out  of  the  shop  and  through  the 
crowd  in  the  street.  As  he  came  finally  free  of  con 
tact,  he  glanced  towards  Palace  Street,  and  saw  the 
soldiers  with  the  lantern,  coming  around  the  corner 
of  the  St.  Valier  garden.  He  dashed  immediately 
through  the  gate  in  the  side  wall,  crossed  an  open 
space  between  snow-covered  evergreens,  and  bounded 
up  a  half  dozen  steps  to  the  rear  porch  of  the  St. 
Valier  mansion.  From  this  porch  a  large  door  led  into 
the  house.  Dick  boldly  gave  four  quick,  loud  knocks. 
As  the  lantern's  light  appeared  at  the  gateway  in 
the  side  wall,  the  door  of  the  house  gaped  wide,  and 
Dick  stepped  at  once  into  a  dim,  spacious  hallway, 
which  led  to  several  rooms  and  a  staircase.  While 
the  servant  closed  the  way  behind  Dick,  and  looked 


200  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

inquiringly  at  him,  a  door  near  the  farther  end  ot 
the  hallway  opened,  admitting  from  a  brilliant  parlor 
a  noise  of  merry  conversation,  and  then  a  woman, 
who  stopped  in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  and  looked  at 
Dick  with  the  surprise  due  to  his  s*udden  intrusion. 
It  was  Catherine  de  St.  Valier. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE    INCIDENTS    OF    A   SNOWY    NIGHT. 

THERE  was  a  moment's  pause,  while  Dick  hastily 
tore  open  the  silken  bag  in  his  queue  and  took  there 
from  the  miniature.  Then  he  advanced  to  her, 
bowing  low,  his  hunting-cap  in  one  hand,  the  por 
trait  held  out  in  the  other.  She  glanced  at  the 
miniature  curiously,  then  uttered  a  low  exclamation 
of  pleasure,  her  face  suddenly  assuming  a  faint  but 
joyous  smile,  and  took  the  portrait,  her  fingers  touch 
ing  his  as  she  did  so. 

"  When  I  said  I  would  get  it  back  for  you,  in  New 
Jersey,"  quoth  Dick,  while  she  looked  affectionately 
at  the  miniature,  "I  didn't  think  to  take  so  long  a 
time." 

She  now  looked  from  the  portrait  to  him.  "  Then 
you  are  the  young  gentleman"  who  left  the  stage 
coach,  to  go  after  the  robbers  ? "  she  said,  in  a  tone 
showing  that  she  had  not  recognized  him  at  first. 

Dick  bowed.  "  I  would  have  returned  it  to  you 
in  New  York,  but  —  something  hindered  me."  In 
contemplating  the  fine  lines  of  her  face,  and  the  dark 


202  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

lustre  of  her  eyes,  Dick  heeded  not  the  possibility 
that  his  seekers  might  even  now  be  on  the  porch. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you,  sir  ? "  she  said,  her  look 
and  tone  having,  from  the  circumstances,  a  tender 
ness  such  as  she  had  not  before  evinced  to  any  man. 
Perhaps  this  very  exception  in  Dick's  favor,  though 
due  to  the  occasion,  separated  him  at  once  and  for 
ever  in  her  mind  from  all  other  men,  and  made  it 
natural  that  he,  on  whom  she  had  scarcely  even 
looked,  should  acquire  in  an  instant  a  first  place  in 
her  thoughts. 

Dick  had  read  enough  to  be  able  to  make  such 
fine  speeches  as  were  seriously  affected  and  seriously 
taken  in  those  days.  He  answered  : 

"  By  permitting  me  to  worship  you." 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  at  loss  for  a  reply, 
but  not  disapprovingly.  Before  she  could  speak, 
there  came  a  loud  pounding  at  the  rear  door.  The 
old  servant,  who  had  locked  it  after  Dick's  entrance, 
now  returned  to  it  to  open  it  again. 

"  I  think  that  is  a  party  of  troops  in  search  of 
me,"  said  Dick,  quietly,  to  Catherine.  "  I  came  to 
Quebec  on  a  secret  mission  for  the  United  Colonies, 
and  I  have  been  discovered." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  exclaimed  Catherine,  suddenly  show 
ing  deep  concern.  "  Don't  open  the  door,  Antoine  ! 
Do  you  mean,  sir,"  turning  to  Dick,  "that,  if  you 
were  caught,  you  would  be  —  " 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A    SNOWY  NIGHT. 

"  Hanged,  probably,"  said  Dick,  seeing  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye  that  the  servant  had  stepped  aside 
from  the  door  without  unlocking  it. 

The  knock  was  repeated,  more  loudly.  Catherine 
looked  distressed  and  perplexed. 

"They  will  be  let  in,  eventually,"  she  said,  in  a 
whisper,  "for  my  uncle  will  hear  them,  and  come 
to  see  what  is  the  matter.  You  must  hide  till  they 
go!" 

"They  will  search  the  house,"  replied  Dick. 

She  stood  thinking,  for  a  few  seconds.  "  There  is 
one  room  they  shall  not  enter,"  she  said.  "Come  !  " 

She  went  swiftly  up  the  wide  staircase,  Dick  fol 
lowing  at  her  elbow.  At  the  first  landing,  which 
was  visible  from  the  front  part  of  the  hall,  she 
pushed  back  a  door,  whereupon  Dick,  obeying  her 
look,  stepped  into  a  chamber  that  had  a  window  at 
the  farther  end,  as  could  be  known  by  the  faint 
whiteness  there,  and  by  the  sound  of  snowflakes 
pelting  the  panes.  Dick  stopped  at  the  threshold 
to  say,  "  But  the  servant  ?  " 

"  He  is  faithful  to  me,"  she  whispered  from  the 
landing.  At  that  moment  the  knocking  again 
sounded,  this  time  with  angry  violence.  There 
came  from  the  parlor  a  young  gentleman  whom 
Dick,  looking  through  the  chamber  doorway  and 
down  the  first  flight  of  stairs,  recognized  as  Cath 
erine's  brother,  and  who  said  to  the  servant : 


2O4  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"  What  is  that  knocking,  Antoine  ?  My  uncle 
wonders  why  you  don't  go  to  the  door." 

"  I  have  been  busy  elsewhere,  Monsieur  Gerard," 
said  the  old  servant ;  and  then  he  could  be  heard 
turning  the  lock. 

A  moment  later  there  came  the  sound  of  men 
rushing  in,  and  then  the  voice  of  Lieutenant  Blagdon, 
saying,  loudly  and  angrily  :' 

"What  the  devil  has  come  over  this  house,  Gerard, 
that  it  opens  so  easily  to  rebel  spies,  and  stays  closed 
all  night  against  the  King's  troops  ?  " 

Before  the  astonished  Gerard  could  reply,  another 
gentleman  appeared  from  the  parlor,  attracted  by 
the  noisy  arrival  of  Blagdon  and  the  troops.  He 
appeared  to  be  about  sixty,  but  he  carried  his  tall 
figure  stiffly  erect,  and  his  eyes  were  bright  and 
keen.  He  held  a  hand  of  playing  cards,  and  his  face 
still  wore  a  smile,  which  was  rather  that  of  heartless 
gaiety  than  of  kindly  merriment.  Behind  him,  in 
the  doorway,  appeared  other  gentlemen  and  a  few 
ladies,  these  last  standing  on  their  toes  to  see  what 
was  the  disturbance. 

"  What  is  going  on,  Lieutenant  Blagdon  ? "  de 
manded  the  old  gentleman. 

"  A  very  remarkable  thing,  Monsieur  de  St. 
Valier,"  replied  Blagdon.  "A  rebel  spy,  who  was 
discovered  at  Colonel  Maclean's  quarters,  seems  to 
have  found  a  refuge  in  your  house." 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A   SNOWY  NIGHT.      2O5 

"  What !  "  cried  the  old  gentleman,  whom  Dick 
now  understood  to  be  Catherine's  uncle.  "  My  house 
shelter  a  rebel !  You  seem  to  be  walking  in  your 
sleep,  Lieutenant  Blagdon,  under  the  delusion  of 
some  ridiculous  dream  !  " 

"  I  implied  no  knowledge  on  your  part,  Monsieur 
de  St.  Valier,  when  I  said  the  fellow  had  got  into 
your  house.  We  followed  his  track  in  the  snow,  and 
though  we  lost  it  for  a  moment  in  a  crowd,  before 
the  wine  shop  yonder,  we  soon  came  on  the  same 
footprint,  which  led  through  the  snow  to  your  porch. 
The  same  feet  left  marks  of  snow  on  the  porch,  to 
your  very  door,  and  there  are  no  marks  leading  away 
from  it.  Moreover,  I  know  the  man,  and  have  reason 
to  think  he  would  have  come  to  this  house  while  in 
Quebec." 

At  this  point  Catherine  hastened  down  the  stairs, 
at  first  nonchalantly,  but,  on  approaching  the  foot, 
assuming  a  look  of  wonderment  at  the  scene  in  the 
hall. 

"  Why,  what  has  happened,  Gerard  ?  What  is  it, 
uncle  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  And  now,"  cried  Blagdon,  excitedly,  "  I  know  the 
man  has  been  here  since  I  left  Miss  de  St.  Valier  an 
hour  ago  !  "  Catherine  saw,  as  did  her  brother,  that 
Blagdon's  eyes  were  fixed  balefully  on  the  miniature, 
which  she  had  thoughtlessly  retained  in  her  hand. 

"What  man?"  queried  Catherine,  turning  red. 


2O6  .  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"The  man  who  brought  you  back  that  portrait, 
which  you  didn't  have  an  hour  ago,"  cried  Blagdon, 
half  mad  with  jealousy.  "  Sure  proof  the  man  must 
have  entered  this  house  since  he  left  Colonel  Maclean's 
quarters,  where  he  had  been  all  day ! " 

"You  are  wrong,  Lieutenant  Blagdon,"  said 
Catherine,  quietly.  "  Though  you  didn't  know  it  an 
hour  ago,  I  have  had  my  mother's  portrait  since 
yesterday,  as  I  meant  to  tell  my  uncle  when  I  should 
see  fit.  It  was  handed  to  Gerard  in  the  street  by  a 
man  who  did  not  wait  for  any  words,  —  is  it  not  so, 
Gerard  ?  " 

Dick,  looking  down  from  the  darkness  of  the 
landing,  saw  Gerard  bow  in  confirmation,  and  knew 
that  the  understanding  between  brother  and  sister 
was  complete.  He  saw,  also,  Blagdon  shake  his 
head,  with  a  derisively  incredulous  laugh. 

"  If  any  one  came  in  by  that  door,"  said  the  elder 
St.  Valier,  "  the  servant  should  know  it.  You  were 
here,  Antoine.  Did  you  admit  any  one?" 

"  Lieutenant  Blagdon  and  the  soldiers,"  replied 
Antoine. 

"But  Antoine  could  not  have  been  minding  his 
business,"  said  Blagdon,  "  for  we  had  to  knock 
several  times  before  he  let  us  in." 

"  But,"  put  in  Antoine,  "  the  door  was  locked  be 
fore  I  admitted  monsieur  and  the  troops.  Monsieur 
must  have  heard  me  unlock  it.  Does  not  that  show 


THE  INCIDENTS  OF  A   SNOWY  NIGHT.      2O/ 

that  no  one  could  have  come  in  before  monsieur, 
even  if  I  were  not  at  my  place  ?  " 

"  It  shows  merely  that  the  man,  after  coming  in, 
himself  locked  the  door,"  said  Blagdon.  "  He  doubt 
less  found  it  unlocked  when  he  arrived.  I'll  wager 
Antoine  will  not  take  oath  the  door  was  locked  at 
the  time  the  man  must  have  entered." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Monsieur  de  St.  Valier,  "the 
question  can  be  easily  settled.  I  certainly  don't  wish 
to  have  a  rebel  spy  lodged  in  my  house.  Let  your 
troops  search  the  place,  lieutenant !  " 

"Thank  you,  monsieur,"  said  Blagdon,  his  eyes 
flashing  triumph  ;  while  Dick  stepped  back  into  the 
chamber  from  his  doorway  at  the  landing.  Dick 
dared  not  close  the  door  after  him,  lest  its  creak  or 
the  noise  of  its  latch  might  attract  the  attention  of 
the  people  in  the  hallway  below.  Dick  had  seen  that 
some  of  these  guests  were  British  officers,  availing 
themselves  of  a  brief  relief  from  duty. 

"  Neither  Lieutenant  Blagdon  nor  any  other  man 
shall  search  my  chamber !  "  said  Catherine,  with  a 
pretence  of  that  capricious  determination  which 
a  woman  may  show  without  visible  reason  and  yet 
not  excite  suspicion.  She  ascended  the  short  flight 
of  stairs  with  dignity,  and  stood  on  the  landing,  her 
back  to  the  door.  She  had  the  superior  sense  to 
leave  the  door  ajar,  so  that  her  action  seemed  the 
result,  not  of  solicitude  regarding  some  person  in 


2O8  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS- 

the  chamber,  but  of  a  whimsical  antagonism  aroused 
by  the  manner  in  which  Blagdon  had  spoken  to  her. 
Blagdon  gave  some  instructions,  in  a  low  voice,  to 
an  under  officer.  The  latter,  whom  Antoine  accom 
panied  in  obedience  to  a  gesture  from  Monsieur  de  St. 
Valier,  led  four  men  into  the  rooms  opening  on  the 
hall,  while  Blagdon  and  two  of  the  troops  remained 
where  they  were,  as  a  guard  to  the  great  doors  at  the 
hall's  either  end.  The  searching  party  next  went 
below  stairs.  During  these  operations  Monsieur  de 
St.  Valier  laughed  and  chatted  with  his  guests,  who 
stood  grouped  at  either  side  of  the  parlor  doorway, 
while  Gerard  remained  at  the  stair-foot,  apart  from 
the  others,  watching  his  sister  and  listening  for  any 
sign  from  the  searching  troops.  These  presently 
came  empty-handed  from  the  lower  regions,  and 
hurried  up-stairs,  passing  Catherine  and  her  doorway 
as  they  went.  After  several  minutes  they  returned, 
disappointed  of  their  prey.  Every  room  but  Cath 
erine's  had  now  been  looked  through,  the  searchers 
having  doubtless  been  ordered  by  Blagdon  to  leave 
that  one  exempt.  He  had  probably  hoped  that  the 
fugitive  might  be  found  elsewhere,  and  that  his  own 
duty  and  inclination  might  thus  be  fulfilled  without 
further  direct  conflict  with  Catherine.  He  now 
braced  himself  for  such  contest,  —  a  contest  doubly 
difficult  from  the  fact  that  he  was  in'  love  with  her 
and  desired  her  love  in  return. 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A    SATOWY  NIGHT.      2OQ 

"  Search  that  room  !  "  he  commanded  the  under 
officer,  indicating  Catherine's. 

Dick,  in  the  darkness  beyond  the  threshold,  ran  to 
the  window  at  the  chamber's  further  end,  and  tried 
to  open  it ;  but  it  would  not  yield  to  his  strongest 
pressure.  Not  able  in  the  darkness  to  learn  how  it 
was  fastened,  he  despaired  of  finding  exit  by  means 
of  it.  So  he  returned  to  his  place  near  the  open 
door,  outside  of  which  stood  Catherine,  who  dared 
not  communicate  with  him  in  the  gaze  of  the  people 
below. 

Meanwhile  Catherine  had  capped  Blagdon's  order 
with  the  words  : 

"  Whoever  tries  to  enter  this  room  must  first  deal 
with  my, brother  and  myself  !  " 

"  Right,  sister  !  "  cried  Gerard,  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  "  He  will  have  to  pass  over  my  body  !  " 

Blagdon's  men  hesitated.  Monsieur  de  St.  Valier 
looked  puzzled  and  annoyed.  Little  as  he  loved  his 
niece  and  nephew,  it  would  not  do,  before  his  guests, 
either  to  take  a  stand  against  Catherine  or  to  risk 
the  possible  disclosure  that  she  was  really  concealing 
a  rebel  in  her  chamber.  So  he  remained  silent  and 
motionless,  though  manifestly  ill  at  ease  within.  The 
guests  waited  curiously  for  developments. 

"  Miss  de  St.  Valier  betrays  the  truth,"  said  Blag- 
don.  "  Her  unwillingness  to  have  the  room  examined 
shows  that  the  man  is  there." 


2IO  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"Mile,  de  St.  Valier,"  replied  Gerard,  "is  not 
accustomed  to  having  her  chamber  invaded  by 
men  ! " 

"  She  has  apparently  made  no  difficulty  of  admit 
ting  to  it  the  favored  man ! "  cried  Blagdon,  in  a 
voice  evidently  designed  to  be  heard  by  Dick. 
The  lieutenant  had  been  suddenly  inspired  with  the 
thought  that  such  a  spirited  youth  as  Dick,  being  in 
love  with  the  girl,  would  himself  come  forth  to  resent 
an  insult  offered  her.  Dick,  indeed,  now  back  from 
the  window,  heard  the  words,  and,  grasping  his  hunt 
ing-knife,  would  have  bounded  to  the  landing ;  but 
at  that  instant  came  Catherine's  prompt  reply,  also 
uttered  for  his  ears  : 

"  If  a  man  were  there,  Lieutenant  Blagdon,  he 
would  be  wiser  than  to  be  tricked  out,  for  your  pur 
poses,  by  any  insult  of  yours  !  " 

Dick  took  the  hint,  and  stayed  where  he  was. 

"  He  would  not  have  to  avenge  the  insult,"  cried 
Gerard.  "  That  shall  be  my  business.  I  look  to  you 
for  reparation,  Lieutenant  Blagdon  ! " 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Blagdon.  "  I  shall  have 
time  presently.  But  now  I  am  serving  the  King. 
The  rebel,  I  perceive,  is  content  to  leave  such  mat 
ters  to  other  hands.  'Tis  what  one  might  expect  of 
a  fellow  that  hides  behind  petticoats.  But  petticoats 
sha'n't  protect  him  any  longer.  To  that  room, 
men,  —  " 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A   SNOWY  NIGHT.      211 

But  Catherine's  voice  rose  louder  than  the  lieuten 
ant's,  interrupting  the  order.  "Why,  lieutenant," 
she  cried,  with  pretended  irony,  "if  a  spy  were  in 
the  room,  do  you  think  he  would  not  have  escaped 
through  the  window  by  this  time  ? " 

Dick  knew  these  words  also  were  intended  for 
him.  She  was  not  aware  he  had  tried  the  window 
in  vain.  He  held  his  knife  the  tighter,  and  awaited 
events. 

"  That  was  meant  for  his  hearing  !  "  cried  Blagdon. 
"  Saunders,  take  Jarvis  and  MacDonald  outside  and 
guard  the  window  of  that  room.  Make  haste,  or  the 
rascal  may  drop  from  it  before  you  get  there."  The 
subaltern  and  two  men  hurried  out  by  the  rear  door. 
Blagdon,  who  now  had  four  men  left,  cast  a  quick 
glance  at  the  officers  visible  among  the  guests,  to 
see  if  they  were  commenting  on  his  previous  negli 
gence  in  not  having  placed  guards  outside  before 
entering  the  house,  a  negligence  due  to  his  impatience 
and  to  his  certainty  that  the  fugitive  was  within. 
"  Now,  men,  you  first  two  seize  any  one  who  attempts 
to  interfere,  and  you  others  follow  me  ! " 

He  started  for  the  stairs,  but  at  the  foot  he  en 
countered  Gerard,  who  held  the  way  so  well  for  a 
few  seconds,  with  body  and  both  arms,  that  no  one 
could  pass  him,  the  rear  soldiers  being  obstructed  by 
the  scuffle  between  Gerard  on  one  side  and  Blagdon 
and  one  of  his  men  on  the  other.  Catherine  saw 


212  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

that  this  unequal  contest  must  soon  end  in  her 
brother's  being  thrown  down  or  dragged  aside.  She 
shrank  at  the  thought  that,  unless  she  could  obtain 
other  interposition,  her  own  person  would  next  have 
to  serve  as  barrier,  in  which  case  Dick  would  cer 
tainly  appear,  for  she  had  heard  no  sound  of  the 
window  being  opened. 

"Gentlemen,"  she  cried  to  the  officers  in  the  hall 
way,  "  you've  heard  Lieutenant  Blagdon's  accusation 
against  me.  Well,  if  you  permit,  he  may  enter  my 
room  to  search,  provided  he  enters  alone." 

"  But  I  don't  permit  !  "  cried  one  of  the  officers, 
running  to  the  side  of  the  staircase,  whence  he 
stepped  up  to  the  outer  end  of  a  stair  and  then 
leaped  with  agility  over  the  baluster,  landing  above 
the  scrimmage  at  the  foot.  "  By  gad,  I  won't  stand 
idly  by  and  see  such  an  indignity  committed  against 
a  lady  !  "  And  he  drew  his  sword,  which,  being  in 
uniform  and  ready  for  any  sudden  call  to  duty,  he 
wore. 

"  Nor  I  !  "  came  from  three  or  four  more  mouths, 
and  in  a  few  moments  every  officer  present,  having 
followed  the  leader's  mode  of  passage,  stood  with 
drawn  weapon  on  the  stairs,  between  Catherine  and 
Blagdon's  party. 

"  T  say,  this  is  not  fair  play  ! "  cried  one  of  the 
officers,  seeing  Gerard  at  last  held  down  on  his  back 
by  two  of  the  soldiers.  Thereupon  there  was  a 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A    SNOWY  NIGHT.      213 

swift  charge  of  the  officers  down  the  stairs,  each 
impelled  to  risk  court  martial  by  the  desire  to  stand 
well  in  the  esteem  of  a  beautiful  woman.  Those 
were  gallant  days  !  Men  were  willing  to  chance  any 
thing  for  a  grateful  glance  from  a  pair  of  lovely  eyes, 
—  that  is  to  say,  some  men  were, — and  women 
were  content  to  be  the  kind  of  women  for  whom 
men  would  take  the  chance. 

The  result  of  this  movement  was  that  Blagdon 
and  his  men  were  hurled  backward  to  the  front  door, 
and  Gerard,  whom  the  officers  leaped  over  in  rescu 
ing  him,  rose  to  a  sitting  posture  and  regained  his 
breath.  Blagdon  stood  defeated,  at  a  loss.  There 
came  a  knock  on  the  front  door.  At  St.  Valier's 
gesture,  Antoine  opened  it,  and  in  walked  Colonel 
Maclean  and  a  member  of  his  staff.  The  colonel, 
who  had  come  on  invitation,  to  join  Monsieur  de  St. 
Valier's  guests  at  dinner,  looked  around  in  surprise. 

"  Colonel,"  spoke  up  Blagdon,  yet  half  breathless, 
"  there  is  resistance  here.  The  spy  has  been  tracked 
to  this  house  and  to  that  room.  These  gentlemen 
have  hindered  me  and  my  men  from  going  to  take 
him." 

"  We  consider,"  explained  one  of  the  officers, 
"  that  Miss  de  St.  Valier's  chamber  ought  not  to  be 
entered  without  her  consent,  especially  when  she 
herself  stands  in  the  way,  and  when  violence  would 
have  to  be  used  against  her  in  order  to  pass." 


214  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"  Hoot  toot !  "  said  the  colonel.  "  Do  you  mean 
that  the  young  lady  refuses,  then  ?  It  must  be 
because  the  matter  was  gone  about  in  a  way  dis 
pleasing  to  the  sex.  I'm  sure  she  won't  object  to 
my  taking  just  a  peep  inside  her  nest,  seeing  how 
matters  lie."  Maclean  did  not  use  Scotch  words 
save  when  speaking  to  Scotchmen.  "I  didn't  notice 
the  outside  of  this  house  guarded,  when  I  came  in," 
he  added,  turning  to  Blagdon. 

"There  are  guards  beneath  the  window  of  that 
room,"  replied  the  lieutenant,  "where  'tis  certain 
the  man  is  hid." 

"Well,"  said  the  colonel,  half  playfully,  "to  save 
the  lady's  proper  feelings,  which  she  has  full  right 
to  indulge,  I'll  go  alone  into  the  room.  You'll  not 
mind  the  intrusion  of  a  gray-headed  colonel,  who 
comes  in  the  cause  of  the  King  and  of  Quebec,  my 
dear  young  lady,  I'm  sure."  And  he  started  up  the 
stairs. 

"  Will  you  not  take  my  word,  colonel  ? "  asked 
Catherine,  in  a  low,  unsteady  voice. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  answered;  "but,  as  a  matter  of 
form,  duty  requires  I  should  take  a  glimpse.  You 
there  with  the  lantern,  and  the  next  man,  follow 
me." 

Maclean  and  the  two  soldiers  chosen  left  all  the 
others  —  St.  Valier  and  his  guests,  Blagdon  and 
the  two  remaining  privates,  Maclean's  staff  officer 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A   SNOWY  NIGHT.      21$ 

and  Gerard  —  huddled  well  to  the  front  of  the  hall, 
in  that  part  whence  they  could  see  the  landing 
before  Catherine's  door.  Catherine  suddenly  dis 
appeared  into  her  room.  "  Go  behind  the  door," 
she  whispered  to  Dick  as  she  passed  him.  He  did 
so.  Maclean  entered  the  chamber,  followed  closely 
by  his  two  men.  By  the  light  of  the  lantern,  the 
colonel  could  see  that  Catherine  was  standing  before 
a  door  that  had  the  look  of  communicating  with  a 
closet  in  the  side  of  the  room.  Her  attitude  and 
expression  were  of  a  desperate  determination  to 
protect  that  door  from  being  entered. 

"  So  that's  where  the  spy  is  ? "  quoth  Maclean, 
quickly.  Dick  saw  the  ruse,  and  stood,  ready  to 
profit  by  the  one  chance  it  gave  him  against  ten. 

"  For  God's  sake,  colonel,  don't  open  this  door ! " 
cried  Catherine.  "  I  give  you  my  word,  the  spy  is 
not  behind  it !  " 

"  Madam,  I  must ! "  said  Maclean,  gravely.  "  Your 
own  conduct  shows  you  have  some  one  concealed 
there.  'Tis  your  kind  heart  makes  you  wish  to  save 
the  life  of  a  hunted  man,  but  perhaps  many  lives  of 
loyal  subjects  depend  on  his  capture.  I  beg  you, 
stand  aside,  madam." 

"  I  will  not  stand  aside !  While  I  have  the 
strength,  I  will  protect  this  door !  "  said  Catherine. 

Completely  deceived  by  her  solicitude  over  the 
door  behind  which  Dick  was  not,  the  colonel,  with 


2l6  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

as  much  gentleness  as  he  could  use,  caught  her  in 
his  arms  and  drew  her  from  before  that  door,  she 
resisting  and  protesting  with  the  ejaculations,  "  For 
the  sake  of  heaven  !  Take  my  word !  There's  no 
one  there  !  Believe  me  !  Don't  open,  I  beg  !  "  He 
then  threw  wide  the  door,  and  peered  through  the 
opening. 

"Why!  "  he  said,  "there's  a  stairway  here.  Men, 
follow  me  down  the  steps !  "  He  strode  through 
the  newly  opened  doorway,  the  two  men  at  his  heels. 
Catherine  instantly  flung  the  door  shut  upon  them, 
and  locked  it. 

"Across  the  landing,"  she  whispered  loudly  to 
Dick  ;  "  window  at  the  other  side  of  the  house  —  no 
guards  there !  " 

"  I  love  you !  "  he  whispered  back,  having  emerged 
from  behind  his  door.  "  Shall  we  meet  again  ?  " 

"  God  knows  !  Perhaps  !  Good  night !  "  she 
said. 

He  seized  her  hand,  in  the  darkness,  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips  ;  then  dashed  through  the  doorway, 
across  the  landing,  up  the  little  flight  of  stairs  at  his 
left,  into  the  first  room  ahead  whose  door  he  ran 
against,  then  to  a  window,  which  at  once  gave  way 
to  the  force  he  brought  to  bear  against  it.  He 
stepped  out  to  the  roof  of  the  porch  in  front  of 
the  house,  slid  down  a  corner-post,  ran  through  the 
yet  open  gateway  to  Palace  Street,  hastened  left- 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A   SNOWY  NIGHT.      21  / 

ward  to  the  first  intersecting  street,  and  turned, 
again  leftward,  into  that  street,  which  led  him 
towards  the  wall-crowned  precipice  that  overlooked 
the  St.  Lawrence. 

Meanwhile,  the  people  in  the  hallway  had  caught 
the  momentary  view  of  his  figure  as  it  leaped  across 
the  landing,  but  they,  in  their  ignorance  of  what  had 
passed  in  Catherine's  room,  and  in  the  unlikelihood 
of  the  fugitive's  eluding  Maclean  without  any  outcry 
or  pursuit  on  the  latter's  part,  had  supposed  the  fly 
ing  apparition  to  be  that  of  one  of  Maclean's  men, 
despatched  by  the  colonel  on  some  business  to  them 
unknown.  Dick  had  not  remained  a  sufficient  time 
in  sight  for  his  rifleman's  attire  to  be  distinguished 
in  the  half-darkness  of  the  landing.  So  they  waited 
for  some  appearance  from  Catherine's  chamber. 

Catherine  remained  standing  in  her  room.  Very 
soon  a  noise  at  its  inner  door  told  that  Maclean  had 
returned  from  his  false  quest,  which  had  taken  him 
only  to  an  unused  and  bolted  outer  door  originally 
designed  to  give  a  side  entrance  to  the  room,  that 
apartment  having  been  formerly  devoted  to  the  pur 
poses  of  an  office.  She  did  not  heed  Maclean's 
efforts  to  open  the  door,  which  she  had  locked  on 
her  side.  These  efforts  soon  became  extremely 
violent,  and  at  last  resulted  in  the  breaking  of  the 
door,  and  in  the  appearance  of  the  now  irate  colonel, 
followed  by  his  men  with  the  lantern. 


21 8  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"Why,  miss,"  said  he,  "somebody  locked  that 
door  behind  me  !  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Catherine,  lightly,  affecting  a 
triumphant  smile  of  pleased  revenge ;  "  I  did ! 
You  wouldn't  take  my  word  that  nobody  was 
behind  it,  and  I  thought  I'd  punish  you  !  " 

With  which  she  left  the  room  and  went  serenely 
down-stairs,  followed  by  the  somewhat  mystified  and 
crestfallen  colonel,  who  had  left  his  two  men  to  make 
fast  the  broken  door. 

"  The  young  lady  was  right.  No  one  was  there," 
said  Maclean,  gruffly,  and  went  immediately  to  Mon 
sieur  de  St.  Valier,  who  gave  a  deep  breath  of  relief 
and  returned  to  the  parlor,  whither  his  guests  ac 
companied  him.  Blagdon,  to  be  at  a  distance  from 
Catherine  and  Gerard,  who  stood  talking  together 
at  the  stair-foot,  went  with  his  two  men  to  the  rear 
of  the  hall,  to  wait  for  the  two  who  had  been 
up-stairs  with  Maclean.  Thus  it  happened  that,  of 
the  people  in  the  hall  who  had  seen  the  figure  cross 
the  landing,  none  but  Gerard  saw  the  two  privates 
reappear  presently  from  Catherine's  room  ;  and,  as 
Blagdon  was  in  no  mood  for  questions  when  those 
two  rejoined  him,  the  impression  was  not  corrected 
that  the  flying  figure  had  been  one  of  them.  Blag 
don  forthwith  led  his  four  men,  with  the  three  who 
had  been  put  on  guard  beneath  the  window,  to  the 
barracks,  dismissed  them,  and  repaired  to  a  drinking- 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A   SNOWY  NIGHT.      2 19 

place.  Catherine  and  Gerard  went  back  to  their 
uncle's  guests ;  but  the  sister,  bearing  up  against 
the  exhaustion  caused  by  the  scene  she  had  passed 
through,  showed  an  abstraction  not  entirely  to  be 
attributed  to  happiness  at  the  recovery  of  her 
mother's  portrait. 

Dick  plodded  on  through  the  snow,  past  near  and 
distant  churches,  monasteries,  seminaries,  gardens, 
fine  houses,  and  mean  houses,  keeping  a  frequent 
lookout  behind  him,  and  up  and  down  what  streets 
he  crossed,  and  came  eventually  to  the  low  rampart 
near  the  grand  battery,  from  which  the  precipice  fell 
steeply  to  the  narrow  strip  of  the  lower  town  that 
lay  between  the  cliff's  base  and  the  St.  Lawrence. 

This  rampart,  which  could  avail  mainly  to  shield 
the  batteries  that  commanded  the  shipping  in  the 
St.  Lawrence,  was  easy  of  ascent  from  the  inside, 
as  it  could  not  be  expected  that  any  one  would 
attempt  leaving  the  upper  town  by  the  almost  per 
pendicular  precipice  of  more  than  two  hundred 
feet.  Yet  such  was  the  wild  intention  that  Dick 
had  formed.  The  attempt,  on  the  part  of  a  fugi 
tive,  seemed  the  more  preposterous  for  the  fact  that, 
should  he  accomplish  the  almost  impossible  feat  of 
safely  descending  the  cliff,  he  would  but  find  him 
self  in  the  lower  town,  which  was  defended  at  either 
end  and  closely  guarded  along  its  river  edge,  —  unless, 
indeed,  he  should  traverse  the  face  of  the  cliff  diago- 


22O  TUP:   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

nally,  so  as  to  arrive  at,  the  base  outside  the  southern 
barrier  of  the  lower  town.  As  all  the  world  knows, 
the  walls  of  Quebec  encircled  the  upper  town  on  its 
high  promontory,  while  the  lower  town,  lying  against 
that  promontory's  foot,  needed  no  other  defence  on 
one  side  than  the  promontory  itself.  It  was  neither 
practicable  nor  necessary  that  a  wall  should  run  down 
the  promontory's  side ;  hence  a  man,  finding  himself 
on  the  steep  declivity  between  the  upper  and  the  lower 
town,  had  a  way  of  exit  open  to  him,  provided  he 
could  traverse  obliquely  the  face  of  the  cliff  and  could 
avoid  observation  from  above  or  below.  This  way  of 
escape  recommended  itself  to  Dick  because  the  city 
gates  would  by  this  time  be  watched  for  him,  and 
because  it  would  bring  him  directly  to  the  place 
where  Arnold's  man  would  be  waiting  to  receive 
the  report  that  was  to  have  been  brought  by  Mere 
Frappeur  in  her  boat. 

Dick  knew  the  rampart  overlooking  the  St.  Law 
rence  would  be  the  least  guarded,  as  the  British 
force  was  too  small  for  the  proper  manning  of  the 
many  and  large  defences.  Slinking  at  a  distance 
past  the  right  flank  of  the  grand  battery,  whose 
overworked  sentries  were  shivering  in  the  snow,  he 
found  a  place  where  a  platform  enabled  him  to 
mount  easily  the  rampart.  Across  this  rampart  he 
crawled,  on  hands  and  knees,  making  out  through 
the  falling  flakes  a  single  sentry  who  paced  several 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A    SNOWY  NIGHT.      221 

rods  away.  Looking  over  the  outer  edge  of  the 
rampart,  his  head  turned  giddy,  for  a  moment,  at 
sight  of  the  precipice  falling  sheer  almost  three  hun 
dred  feet  to  the  narrow  fringe  of  houses  and  the 
gloomy  river  below. 

But  he  chose  a  spot  where  there  was  ample  foot 
ing  at  the  rampart's  base,  turned  about,  backed  from 
the  rampart,  hung  for  a  moment  by  his  fingers,  and 
dropped  to  the  chosen  place,  his  fall  softened  by 
what  snow  had  lodged  there.  He  immediately 
turned  his  face  towards  his  distant  destination,  and 
peered  through  the  flake-filled  darkness  for  what  pro 
jections  and  indentations  of  the  cliff  might  serve  his 
progress.  He  thanked  his  stars  for  the  evidence 
soon  afforded  him  that  his  adopted  mode  of  escape 
was  within  possibility,  perilous  though  it  might  be ; 
and  then  for  the  falling  snow,  which  shielded  him 
from  sight,  and  for  the  snow  already  fallen,  which 
now  and  then  helped  him  to  adhere  to  the  cliff,  for 
the  irregularities  of  the  precipice  were  such  that  the 
snow's  lodgment  had  endured  here  and  there  on  its 
steep  face.  These  irregularities  gave  him  footing, 
and  so  enabled  him  to  proceed. 

Many  times  he  slipped,  tearing  his  clothes  and 
scraping  his  skin,  but  each  time  he  kept  his  wits 
and  availed  himself  of  the  first  stopping-place  that 
offered.  The  descent  was  a  work  of  hours,  so-  cau 
tiously  did  he  have  to  proceed,  so  carefully  to  pick 


222  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

out  his  next  footing,  so  often  to  rest  and  regain  his 
breath.  At  last  he  passed  above  the  blockhouse 
and  battery  which  together  constituted  the  inner 
barrier  of  this  end  of  the  lower  town.  In  the  light 
from  the  blockhouse  he  could  see  a  sentry  pacing 
from  the  cliff's  foot  towards  the  wharf  by  the  swift 
river. 

Some  minutes  more  of  effort  brought  Dick  past 
the  top  of  a  stockade,  which  formed  the  outer  barrier. 
The  exultation  of  success  almost  intoxicated  him. 
He  let  himself  slide  down  what  remained  of  the  cliff, 
heedless  alike  of  the  sharp  projections  and  of  the 
Canadian  militia  housed  behind  the  stockade.  As  he 
stood,  at  last,  in  the  narrow  way  between  river  and 
cliff,  restraining  an  impulse  to  shout  with  glee,  he 
took  the  two  sheets  of  paper,  containing  his  report, 
from  beneath  his  hunting-shirt,  and  started  forward, 
loudly  whistling  "  Molly,  my  Treasure." 

Suddenly,  from  over  the  top  of  the  stockade,  a 
shot  was  fired.  Dick  felt  a  sting,  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  bayonet-wound  received  at  Bunker  Hill,  and  fell 
forward  on  his  hands  and  knees.  A  gate  in  the 
stockade  was  thrown  open,  and  two  soldiers  strode 
forth,  lowering  their  faces  to  avoid  the  falling  snow. 
At  the  same  moment,  a  tall  form  sprang  out  from 
the  shadow  of  a  broken  rock  in  front  of  Dick,  com 
pleted  the  whistled  passage  of  music  suddenly  cut 
off  by  Dick's  fall,  and  said : 


"IT    WAS    THE    MAN    SENT    BY    ARNOLD." 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A   SNOWY  NIGHT.      22$ 

"  Ye're  nae  woman  in  a  boat,  but  ye're  a  braw 
whistler,  and  I'll  tak'  your  papers ! " 

It  was  the  man  sent  by  Arnold,  —  old  Tom 
MacAlister. 

"  Take  them,  Tom,  and  away  with  them  quick,  for 
God's  sake !  "  cried  Dick,  handing  them  to  him. 

"  But  ye're  hurt,  lad  !  "  cried  Tom,  thrusting  the 
papers  deep  into  an  inner  pocket. 

"The  devil  I  am  !  "  lied  Dick.  "  Only  slipped  on 
the  snow.  You  save  those  papers,  or  all  my  work 
will  go  for  naught !  I'll  get  my  wind  and  follow ! 
Go,  Tom  !  The  papers  first,  don't  you  understand  ? 
I'll  have  my  breath  before  those  fellows  can  nab 
me ! "  And  Dick  raised  one  knee,  as  if  already 
about  to  rise. 

"  Vera  weel,  lad  !  "  said  old  Tom,  compliantly,  and 
plunged  forward  to  round  the  point  of  Cape  Dia 
mond  and  follow  the  shore  up  the  river.  The  sight 
of  his  gaunt  figure,  swiftly  receding  in  the  snow  and 
night,  between  river  and  cliffs,  was  the  last  glimpse 
Dick  had  of  Tom,  the  piper's  son,  for  many  a  long 
day. 

Dick  was  not  entirely  sure  he  might  not  indeed 
elude  the  two  soldiers  from  the  stockade,  and  over 
take  Tom.  He  got  up  and  found  he  could  proceed 
limpingly.  But  the  soldiers,  only  a  few  yards  from 
him  when  he  rose,  shortened  the  intervening  distance 
so  speedily  that  Dick  saw  they  must  catch  him  in  a 


224  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

few  seconds.  He  made  to  grasp  his  hunting-knife. 
It  was  gone,  having  been  displaced  from  his  belt  at 
some  contact  with  the  cliff  in  his  descent. 

The  idea  of  capture  now  became  intolerable  to 
him.  A  kind  of  madness  arose  in  him,  making  him 
determined,  at  any  cost,  not  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  two  enemies  at  his  heels.  When  he  felt  himself 
almost  within  grasp  of  the  foremost,  he  wheeled 
aside,  and  plunged  head  foremost  into  the  swift,  icy 
current  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  While  the  water 
gurgled  in  his  ears,  he  jubilantly  pictured  to  himself 
the  two  men  standing  baffled  on  the  shore  and 
cursing  the  luck  that  had  robbed  them  of  their 
prey. 

Soon  rising  to  the  surface,  Dick  struck  out  at 
random,  using  both  arms  and  the  unwounded  leg. 
Whither  would  this  swim  in  the  dark  lead  him  ?  He 
scarcely  cared,  now  that  he  had  accomplished  his  two 
missions  ;  his  one  wish  was  that  it  should ,  not  dimin 
ish  his  triumph  by  delivering  him  up  eventually  to 
the  foe.  All  at  once  something  black  loomed  up 
before  him,  —  a  vessel  whose  lights  he  had  not  taken 
to  be  so  near,  and  whose  size  he  could  not  immediately 
make  out. 

As  he  turned  to  swim  away  from  it,  he  heard 
a  voice  call  out  immediately  over  him,  "  Man  in 
the  river !  "  He  pulled  away,  but  with  a  constantly 
weakening  stroke.  He  heard  other  cries,  became 


THE   INCIDENTS   OF  A    SNOWY  NIGHT.      22$ 

vaguely  aware  that  a  boat  was  being  sent  after  him, 
and  presently,  when  strength  and  sense  were  about 
deserting  him,  he  felt  himself  caught  by  the  back  of 
his  hunting-shirt  and  drawn,  by  several  hands,  from 
the  water  to  the  boat. 

He  was  too  little  conscious  to  answer  the  few 
questions  that  were  asked  him  on  the  way  back  to 
the  vessel.  But  as  they  landed  him  on  the  deck,  he 
experienced  a  return  of  consciousness  and  of  power 
to  plan.  He  knew  the  vessel  was  a  British  one,  but 
its  people  must  be  unacquainted  with  his  face  ;  hence 
he  dared  raise  one  last,  desperate  hope  of  completing 
his  escape.  As  he  stood  on  the  deck,  surrounded  by 
the  crew  that  had  brought  him  from  the  water,  he 
was  approached  by  two  officers,  one  of  whom  ordered 
him  to  stand  forward,  while  the  other  remained  a  little 
aloof  in  dignified  immovability. 

"  I  beg  you  will  put  me  ashore,  sir,"  said  Dick, 
somewhat  excitedly,  to  the  officer  who  had  addressed 
him.  "I  had  just  left  the  stockade  yonder,  on  a 
mission  for  Colonel  Maclean.  I  fell  in  with  a  recon 
noitring  party  of  rebels,  and  escaped  by  taking  to 
the  river.  May  I  be  landed  immediately  on  the  other 
shore,  to  go  on  my  mission  without  delay  ? " 

"  What  papers  have  you,  to  show  for  this  account 
of  yourself  ? "  demanded  the  officer,  scrutinizing 
Dick. 

"  I  had  Colonel  Maclean's  pass  in  my  hand  when 


226  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

I  was  attacked,"  said  Dick,  with  no  outward  falter ; 
"but  I  must  have  let  it  go  in  the  river.  I  had  no 
other  papers  ;  the  message  I  carry  is  a  verbal  one." 

"  A  message  ?     To  whom  ? " 

"To  General  Carleton,"  said  Dick,  on  the  moment's 
invention. 

"Why,  this  is  fortunate,"  said  the  officer,  turning 
to  the  motionless  gentleman.  "  General  Carleton, 
this  man  says  he  has  a  verbal  message  for  you." 

Dick  stood,  for  a  moment,  speechless  and  staring ; 
then,  yielding  all  at  once  to  the  fatigues  of  the  night, 
sank  in  a  senseless  heap  to  the  deck. 


CHAPTER    X. 

"BY    FLOOD    AND    FIELD." 

THE  silent  officer  was  indeed  Sir  Guy  Carleton, 
governor  of  Canada,  who  had  eluded  the  captors  of 
Montreal  by  disguising  himself  as  a  Canadian  voy 
ager  and  helping  six  peasants  to  row  him  in  a  small 
boat  with  muffled  oars  to  Three  Rivers,  where  he 
had  boarded  the  vessel  for  Quebec.  He  now  ordered 
Dick  held  below,  while  the  vessel  proceeded  to  a 
mooring-place. 

The  captain  of  the  vessel,  on  being  hailed  by 
a  guard-boat  from  the  Lizard  frigate,  announced 
the  arrival  of  General  Carleton,  and,  in  the  ensuing 
exchange  of  news,  spoke  of  the  man  just  found  in 
the  river.  The  guard-boat  officer  replied  that  the 
man  must  be  a  Virginia  rifleman  who  had  escaped 
that  evening  from  the  Adamant,  on  which  vessel  this 
rifleman  and  another,  both  captured  in  the  suburbs 
of  Quebec,  had  been  placed  with  the  rebels  taken 
September  24th  while  attempting  a  night  attack  on 
Montreal.  Dick  fulfilled,  in  his  attire,  the  descrip 
tion  of  the  escaped  Virginian,  and  was  held  on  Carle- 
ton's  vessel  when  the  governor  landed,  the  captain 

227 


228  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

being  ordered  to  hold  him  for  identification  by  Mr. 
Brooke  Watson,  in  whose  charge  the  rebel  prisoners 
now  on  the  Adamant  had  been  put.  As  the  gov 
ernor  intended  that  the  Adamant  should  sail  the 
next  day  with  its  prisoners,  he  caused  Mr.  Watson 
to  be  summoned  from  his  tavern  for  the  purpose  of 
viewing  the  new  captive  that  night.  The  governor 
then  hastened  to  the  upper  town,  to  confer  with  his 
lieutenant  and  with  Colonel  Maclean,  and,  in  the 
discussion  of  important  affairs,  forgot  about  Dick  ; 
while  Maclean,  on  his  side,  had  now  other  matters 
for  thought  than  the  fugitive  spy. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Watson,  the  same  eminent  mer 
chant  who  afterwards  became  lord  mayor  of  Lon 
don,  going  rather  grumpily  from  inn  comforts  to 
the  vessel,  in  the  snow-storm,  stumbled  down  the 
hatchway,  and  beheld  Dick  while  the  latter  lay 
unconscious  in  a  hammock,  the  whole  upper  side  of 
his  face  concealed  by  straggling  hair.  Desirous 
of  getting  speedily  back  to  his  lodgings,  and  glad 
that  his  quota  of  prisoners  might  be  restored  to  its 
full  number,  the  honest  merchant  cast  a  brief  glance 
at  Dick  in  the  dim  light,  unhesitatingly  pronounced 
him  to  be  the  missing  rascal,  and  stumbled  back  up 
the  stairs  to  the  deck. 

Thus,  through  no  kindness  of  intention  on  the  part 
of  his  enemies,  Dick  escaped  the  fate  of  a  spy,  and 
was  assigned  to  that  of  a  rebel  under  arms.  The 


"BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD."  229 

next  day,  having  slept  well  and  having  had  his  new 
wound  cared  for  by  a  surgeon,  who  pronounced  it 
trivial,  Dick  was  put  aboard  the  Adamant,  hand 
cuffed,  by  a  guard  of  soldiers  that  had  in  the  mean 
time  received  Mr.  Watson's  orders  concerning  him, 
and  thrust  into  a  dark  apartment,  which  was  already 
crowded  with  shackled  prisoners,  whose  recumbent 
bodies  took  up  most  of  the  floor.  Dick  knew  not 
what  disposition  was  to  be  made  of  him,  nor  that  the 
Adamant,  already  about  to  set  sail  with  its  prisoners 
and  with  Governor  Carleton's  despatches,  was  bound 
for  England. 

"  So  the  minions  of  tyranny  have  dragged  you 
back  to  the  den !  "  rang  out  a  bold,  virile  voice,  from 
the  inner  darkness,  and  presently  a  stalwart,  erect 
figure  strode  forth,  stepping  easily  over  the  legs  of 
the  reclining  prisoners  and  planting  each  foot  firmly 
as  it  fell.  The  speaker  was  evidently  able,  from 
recent  habit,  to  see  fairly  well  in  the  darkness. 
Coming  close  to  Dick,  he  suddenly  stopped  and 
exclaimed,  "  By  the  everlasting,  'tis  another  man ! 
Brother,  I  took  you  first  for  a  comrade  who  broke 
the  tyrant's  chain  yesterday.  They  removed  him 
from  this  cage,  to  doctor  him,  for  the  filthy  air  had 
made  him  sick  ;  but  he  broke  away  and  plunged  into 
the  river,  in  the  snow-storm.  Or  else  the  guard  who 
brought  our  supper  is  a  liar.  Have  you  heard  any 
thing  of  his  fate  ?  " 


230  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

11  No,  sir,"  said  Dick,  wondering  what  personage 
was  this  whose  style  of  speech  was  so  oratorical,  and 
whose  spirit  remained  so  high  in  this  miserable  hole. 
"  I  am  a  newcomer  here.  I  am  Richard  Wetheral, 
of  Hendricks's  company  of  riflemen,  from  the  county 
of  Cumberland,  province  of  Pennsylvania." 

"  I  welcome  you  to  my  acquaintance,"  replied 
the  other,  heartily,  thrusting  forth  his  manacled 
hands  and  grasping  Dick's.  "  I  am  Colonel  Ethan 
Allen." 

"  What !  The  captor  of  Ticonderoga  ?  "  cried  Dick, 
remembering  how  in  the  camp  at  Cambridge  the 
news  of  that  bold  feat  of  a  May  morning  had  been 
celebrated,  and  how  the  name  of  the  Green  Mountain 
leader  had  become  an  every-day  word  in  the  colonial 
army. 

"  Fortune  threw  that  prize  in  my  way,"  said  the 
other,  with  a  modesty  so  unmistakably  pretended 
that  the  affectation  could  only  amuse,  not  offend. 
"  Fortune  was  not  so  kind  at  Montreal,  as  you  may 
have  heard,"  he  added,  dismally. 

"I  had  heard  of  your  —  your  bad  luck  at  Mon 
treal,"  said  Dick,  leaning  against  the  oaken  wall  of 
the  enclosure,  "  but  I  little  expected  the  honor  of 
meeting  you  in  these  circumstances." 

"Yet  in  these  circumstances  we  have  been  —  in 
this  very  den,  indeed  —  since  ever  the  army  ap 
peared  yonder  at  Point  Levi." 


"BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD," 

"And  where  were  you  before  that?"  asked  Dick, 
eager  to  hear  the  story  of  so  famous  a  hero  from  the 
hero's  own  lips. 

"Why,"  said  the  colonel,  "we  were  in  more 
places  than  one,  you  may  be  sure.  After  our  —  bad 
luck,  which  was  all  because  I  was  outrageously  out 
numbered  and  not  concerted  with,  I  surrendered,  on 
the  promise  of  honorable  terms,  and  we  were  led 
into  the  town  to  be  interviewed  by  their  comman 
dant,  General  Prescott,  God  —  bless  him  !  When  he 
asked  me  whether  I  was  that  Colonel  Allen  who  took 
Ticonderoga,  and  I  told  him  I  was  the  very  man,  he 
went  into  a  rage  and  shook  his  cane  over  my  head 
and  called  me  a  rebel  and  several  worse  names ;  and 
when  he  ordered  us  put  in  irons  and  sent  on  board 
the  Gaspee  schooner,  he  swore  I  should  wear  a  halter 
at  Tyburn.  From  the  Gaspee  I  wrote  him  a  letter, 
telling  him  of  the  notorious  friendship  and  generosity 
with  which  I  had  treated  the  officers  I  took  at 
Ticonderoga,  but  he  paid  no  attention  to  my  letter." 

"You  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing,"  put  in 
Dick,  "  that  General  Montgomery  has  captured 
Montreal  and  taken  Prescott  prisoner." 

"  Huzza. ! "  cried  Allen,  and  there  were  utterances 
of  jubilation  from  the  men  on  the  floor.  "  So  the 
wheel  of  transitory  events  has  turned  that  way !  I 
hope  Prescott  will  remember  the  treatment  we  got 
on  the  Gaspee.  The  irons  were  bad  enough,  Mr. 


232  THE   ROAD    70   PARIS. 

Wetheral,  but  the  insults  were  intolerable.  We 
received  the  insolence  that  cowards  always  show 
their  betters  when  in  a  position  to  do  so,  —  for 
cowards  they  were  on  that  vessel,  as  they  proved 
one  day  by  scattering  as  if  a  wild  beast  was  amongst 
them,  when  in  a  fit  of  anger  I  twisted  a  nail  from  the 
bar  of  my  handcuff  with  my  teeth.  They  said  I  was 
a  mad  savage,  a  ferocious  animal,  —  in  their  mean 
souls  they  couldn't  conceive  the  feelings  of  a  liberty- 
loving  man  under  restraint.  After  five  or  six  weeks 
we  were  transferred  to  an  armed  vessel  lying  off 
Quebec,  under  Captain  Me  Cloud,  who  was  a  gentle 
man  and  treated  us  well.  The  next  day  we  were  put 
on  board  the  vessel  of  Captain  Littlejohn,  a  brave  and 
civil  officer ;  he  ordered  my  irons  taken  off  and  had 
me  sit  at  his  own  table.  His  subordinates,  too,  were 
friendly  to  us.  And  then  we  were  brought  on  the 
Adamant,  and  handcuffed  again.  We  are  under  the 
charge  of  a  damned  calico  merchant  by  the  name  of 
Brooke  Watson,  who  trades  between  London  and 
Montreal.  He  is  the  man  who  visited  New  York 
and  Philadelphia,  pretending  to  be  friendly  to  the 
glorious  cause  of  the  colonies,  and  who  returned  to 
Montreal  and  wrote  letters  to  Gage's  people  in 
Boston,  disclosing  what  he  had  learned  through  his 
make-believe  sympathy.  This  vessel  is  a  floating 
nest  of  Tories,  who  have  taken  passage  on  it.  When 
we  came  aboard,  we  were  treated  in  the  most  bitter, 


"BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD."  233 

reviling  spirit,  by  the  officers,  crew,  guards,  and 
passengers." 

Dick  was  by  this  time  able  to  make  out  the 
speaker's  features,  as  well  as  the  tall,  robust  figure 
on  which  was  solidly  set  the  shapely  head  placed 
upright  in  a  natural  attitude  of  pride  and  defiance. 
The  full  eyes,  nose,  and  mouth  showed  sociability 
and  sympathy,  as  well  as  pugnacity  and  assertive- 
ness.  There  was  in  the  man's  whole  expression 
such  an  unconscious  look  of  irrepressibility,  his 
self-vaunting  was  so  spontaneous,  he  so  evidently 
took  his  high-flown  phrases  seriously,  that  even  his 
foibles  made  him  the  more  engaging. 

"  I  made  the  devil's  own  time  of  it,"  he  went  on, 
with  a  slight  smile  of  pleasure  at  the  recollection, 
"  when  they  first  ordered  me  to  this  filthy  pen,  after 
my  men  had  already  been  forced  in.  I  protested 
quite  civilly  with  Watson,  but  he  cut  my  represen 
tations  short  by  commanding  me  to  follow  my  men. 
He  said  the  place  was  good  enough  for  a  rebel,  and 
that  a  man  who  deserved  hanging  had  no  right  to 
talk  of  honor  and  humanity,  and  indulged  in  other 
such  talk.  A  Tory  lieutenant  who  was  looking  on 
said  I  ought  to  have  been  hanged  for  my  opposition 
to  the  province  of  New  York,  in  her  claim  of  New 
Hampshire's  lands ;  and,  as  if  it  wasn't  enough  to 
call  that  rightful  opposition  a  rebellion,  he  suddenly 
spat  in  my  face.  I  ran  at  him,  and  knocked  him 


234  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

partly  down  with  both  fists,  handcuffed  as  I  am  now. 
He  made  for  the  cabin,  where  he  got  under  the  pro 
tection  of  some  guards  with  fixed  bayonets,  whom 
Watson  ordered  to  drive  me  back  to  the  den,  for  I 
had  sprung  after  the  lieutenant.  I  challenged  him 
to  come  out  and  fight,  but  the  tyrant-loving  cur 
stood  shaking  with  fear.  Watson  shouted  to  the 
guards  to  get  me  into  the  pen,  dead  or  alive,  and 
the  low  brutes  surrounded  me  with  their  bayonets. 
I  thought  I  would  try  flattery  on  the  rascals,  so  I 
said,  '  I  know  you  are  honest  fellows,  and  are  not  the 
ones  to  blame  ;  I  am  only  in  dispute  with  a  calico 
merchant,  who  doesn't  know  how  to  behave  towards 
a  gentleman  of  the  military  establishment.'  But  they 
paid  no  heed  to  my  words,  and  so  I  was  at  last 
driven  into  this  hole  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 
How  we  live  here,  you  will  see  for  yourself,  if  you 
remain  with  us,  —  as  you  probably  will,  for,  by  the 
feel  of  things,  the  vessel  has  cast  off." 

It  was  soon  plain  that  the  vessel  was  indeed  under 
way,  whence  came  the  inference  that  Dick's  destina 
tion  was  to  be  that  of  the  other  prisoners,  which 
they  knew  was  England.  Dick's  sensations  of  mind 
on  contemplating  this  new  shift  of  the  wind  of  cir 
cumstance,  this  utterly  unexpected  breaking  away 
from  what  had  seemed  to  be  his  immediate  des 
tiny,  may  be  imagined.  As  he  sat  on  the  floor, 
while  the  vessel  rocked  and  strained,  he  thought 


"BY  FLOOD   AND  FIELD,"  235 

of  the  home  in  Pennsylvania,  of  the  army  besieging 
Boston,  of  Arnold's  troops  waiting  to  attack  Quebec, 
of  old  Tom,  of  the  girl  in  the  great  house  in  Palace 
Street,  of  all  he  was  being  carried  from,  and  then  of 
the  unknown  that  lay  before  him.  "  Over  the  hills 
and  over  the  main,"  sang  a  voice  within  him,  and  with 
a  patient  sigh  he  resigned  himself  to  the  guidance  of 
fortune. 

The  den  was  about  twenty-two  feet  by  twenty. 
The  prisoners  confined  here,  all  handcuffed,  were 
thirty -four  in  number.  There  were  Allen,  and 
thirty-one  of  the  thirty-eight  men  who  had  sur 
rendered  with  him  at  Montreal,  the  Virginia  rifle 
man  taken  in  the  suburb  of  St.  John's,  and  Dick 
Wetheral.  Until  the  day  before  the  end  of  their 
voyage,  —  that  is  to  say,  for  more  than  a  month,  — 
they  were  not  allowed  to  leave  their  dark  pen,  which 
contained  no  furniture  or  utensil  other  than  two  tubs. 
The  experience  of  prison  life  that  Dick  had  got  in 
Boston  was  as  nothing  to  that  which  he  now  en 
dured,  although  in  accommodating  himself  to  the 
latter  he  profited  some  by  the  former. 

Besides  the  close  confinement,  the  irons,  and  the 
perpetual  darkness,  there  was  the  sickening  heaving 
of  the  vessel,  the  continual  distress  of  stomach  and 
adjacent  organs,  the  inevitable  fever,  and  the  conse 
quent  raging  thirst,  which  each  man's  daily  gill  of 
rum  and  small  allowance  of  fresh  water  failed  to 


236  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

quench.  When  the  prisoners  begged  for  more  water 
on  being  served  with  their  regular  allowance  of  salt 
food,  they  were  jeered  and  reviled  by  their  keepers, 
and  by  the  Tories  who  then  looked  in  at  them. 
They  were  irritated  half  to  madness  by  vermin  of 
the  body.  Some  of  the  men  raged,  others  merely 
fretted ;  others  lay  most  of  the  while  in  a  kind  of 
stupor,  at  times  broken  with  despairing  groans. 

Allen  and  Dick  both  kept  their  wits,  and  remained 
of  unbroken  spirit.  Allen  sometimes  chafed,  but 
always  with  a  healthy  anger,  and  sometimes  he 
cursed,  but  more  often  he  declaimed  against  tyr 
anny,  defied  the  oppressor,  and  predicted  the  tri 
umph  of  liberty.  Dick  bore  the  torments  of  this 
voyage  with  a  fixed  dourness,  and,  as  one  annoy 
ance  grew  upon  another,  began  to  see  something 
ludicrous  in  the  very  accumulation  of  miseries,  so 
that  his  face  often  went  from  an  irrepressible  gri 
mace  of  inward  pain  to  a  peculiar  amused  smile  some 
what  akin  to  that  elicited  from  him  on  occasions 
of  peril.  Moreover,  he  comforted  himself  with  the 
thought  that,  for  every  dejected  moment,  fate  owed 
him  a  moment  of  exultation,  and  that  the  voyage 
must  end  some  time. 

One  day  the  prisoners  were  unexpectedly  ordered 
to  go  on  deck.  They  stumbled  awkwardly  up  into 
the  light  of  the  sun,  and  drank  in  gladly  the  fresh  air 
of  the  ocean.  Afar  in  a  certain  direction,  whither  all 


"#y  FLOOD   AND   FIELD."  237 

eyes  were  turned,  they  beheld  a  faint  blot  of  duller 
color  against  the  different  blues  of  sky  and  sea.  It 
was  the  Land's  End  of  England.  The  prisoners, 
whose  faces  had  become  hideously  transformed  by 
the  growth  of  beards  during  their  imprisonment, 
gazed  curiously  at  the  first  outlines  of  the  land  they 
had  never  seen,  yet  once  had  loved  as  the  home  of 
their  fathers. 

The  next  day  the  vessel 'made  Falmouth  harbor, 
sailing  in  between  the  lofty  promontories,  of  which 
one  on  the  west  side  is  crowned  by  Pendennis  Castle, 
one  on  the  east  by  the  castle  of  St.  Mawes.  The 
news  spread  from  the  port  of  Falmouth  that  Amer 
ican  prisoners  were  to  be  landed,  rebels  of  marvellous 
skill  with  the  rifle,  and  that  the  chief  of  them  was 
the  taker  of  Ticonderoga.  Consequently,  while  the 
prisoners  were  shaving  and  making  themselves  pre 
sentable,  for  which  the  means  had  at  last  been  given 
them,  great  crowds  flocked  to  the  wharf,  and  to  the 
housetops  and  high  places  along  the  way  to  Pen 
dennis  Castle,  in  which  the  prisoners  were  to  be 
confined. 

In  due  time  the  prisoners,  not  less  curious,  but 
more  self-contained  than  the  spectators,  were  put 
ashore,  all  in  their  hunters'  garb,  for  Allen  himself, 
a  few  days  before  his  attack  on  Montreal,  had  laid 
aside  his  usual  costume  for  a  Canadian  dress,  —  a 
short  double-breasted  fawn-skin  jacket,  undervest  and 


238  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

breeches  of  sagathy,  worsted  stockings,  shoes,  and  a 
red  worsted  cap.  Allen  assumed  his  haughtiest, 
most  scornful,  and  most  belligerent  look,  as  he  stepped 
firmly  on  English  ground,  followed  by  Dick,  who, 
while  he  thrilled  at  knowing  himself  on  the  soil  he 
had  learned  from  his  parents  to  call  home,  had  yet  a 
new  and  unaccountable  feeling  of  pride  in  that  he 
was  American. 

The  crowd  so  blocked  the  way  in  Falmouth  — 
which  place  reminded  him  somewhat  of  New  England 
sea-towns  he  had  passed  through,  though  it  lacked 
their  look  of  freshness  —  that  the  officers  had  to 
draw  swords  and  force  a  passage.  So  the  prisoners 
were  led,  with  guards  before  and  behind,  and  between 
lines  of  people,  many  of  whom  followed  on  either 
side,  for  about  a  mile's  distance  from  the  town, 
towards  the  lofty  round  tower,  within  walled  grounds, 
that  crowned  the  promontory  between  sea  and  harbor. 
Pendennis  Castle  rose,  a  high  and  gray  building  of 
the  time  of  Henry  VIII.,  within  close  walls,  around 
which  a  great  space,  containing  a  parade-ground  and 
here  and  there  some  small  houses,  was  in  turn  sur 
rounded  by  lower  walls,  from  which  tree-dotted  slopes 
fell  in  different  degrees  of  steepness  to  the  water 
almost  entirely  environing  the  peninsula.  At  the 
entrance  the  prisoners  were  taken  in  charge  by 
Lieutenant  Hamilton,  the  commandant  of  the  cas 
tle,  and  were  led  through  grounds  and  gates,  corri- 


"BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD."  239 

dors  and  stairways,  to  an  airy  room  provided  with 
bunks  and  straw. 

Though  their  irons  were  not  taken  off,  the  prison 
ers  had  here  an  easy  captivity.  They  arrived  almost 
on  the  eve  of  Christmas,  and  they  were  not  forgotten 
in  the  beneficent  feeling  that  pervaded  England  dur 
ing  Yule-tide.  Breakfast  and  dinner  came  for  Allen 
every  day,  with  now  and  then  a  bottle  of  wine,  all 
from  Lieutenant  Hamilton's  table  and  with  Lieu 
tenant  Hamilton's  compliments.  Dick  and  the  other 
prisoners,  themselves  well  fed,  got  many  a  crumb 
from  Allen's  board,  which  was  supplied,  by  a  gentle 
man  in  the  neighborhood,  with  suppers  also.  Their 
first  day  or  two  in  the  castle  having  been  devoted  to 
a  campaign  of  extermination  against  the  vermin  they 
had  brought  from  ship,  the  prisoners  soon  recovered 
spirit  and  health,  in  their  new  surroundings.  With 
great  pleasure  they  learned  that  their  former  keeper- 
in-chief,  the  estimable  Watson,  had  hastened  off  to 
London  to  receive  his  compensation. 

Allen  was  often  sent  for  by  the  commandant,  with 
permission  to  take  the  air  on  the  parade-ground, 
where  many  of  the  Cornwall  gentry  came  to  visit 
him.  This  gentle  treatment  did  no  more  towards 
weakening  his  patriotism  than  harsh  measures  had 
done.  For  his  discourse  with  those  who  came  to 
talk  with  him  was  most  often  upon  the  cause  of  the 
fighting  colonies.  He  declaimed  most  high-sound- 


240  THE    ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

ingly  on  the  subject,  and  Dick,  who  was  sometimes 
allowed  to  accompany  him  to  the  parade-ground, 
would  half  amusedly  liken  him  to  some  would-be  Pitt 
before  the  House  of  Commons  or  some  oratorical 
Roman  hero  in  a  tragedy.  Many  of  his  English 
hearers  would  dispute  with  him,  but  others  would 
nod  hearty  agreement,  for  there  was  in  England  a 
numerous  party  that  sympathized  with  the  American 
revolt.  "  The  conquest  of  the  American  colonies  is 
to  Great  Britain  an  eternal  impracticability ! "  he 
would  thunder,  rejoicing  in  polysyllables. 

Some  of  the  visitors  came  to  make  sport.  Thus, 
one  day : 

"What  was  your  former  occupation?"  asked  a 
sapient  gentleman,  quizzingly. 

"  In  my  younger  days,"  quoth  Allen,  ironically, 
"  I  studied  divinity,  but  I'm  a  conjurer  by  profes 
sion." 

"You  conjured  wrong,  then,  when  you  were  taken 
prisoner." 

"I  know  I  mistook  a  figure  that  time,"  said  Allen, 
"but  I  conjured  you  out  of  Ticonderoga." 

The  tittering  of  some  ladies,  for  many  such  were 
among  the  visitors,  closed  up  the  inquisitive  gentle 
man's  mouth. 

Another  time,  Allen  astonished  two  benevolent 
clergymen,  who  had  come  expecting  to  see  some 
sort  of  untutored  savage,  by  discoursing  on  moral 


"  BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD."  24! 

philosophy,  and  by  arguing,  in  approved  logical  mode, 
against  their  doctrine  of  Christianity. 

There  was  in  the  company,  one  day,  an  airy  youth 
who  claimed  to  know  that  Americans  could  not  bear 
the  smell  of  powder.  Allen,  taking  the  assertion  as 
a  challenge,  offered  to  convince  him  on  the  spot  that 
an  American  could  bear  that  smell.  "  I  wouldn't  put 
myself  on  a  par  with  you,"  replied  the  youth.  "  Then 
treat  the  character  of  the  Americans  with  respect," 
demanded  Allen.  "  But  you  are  an  Irishman," 
retorted  the  young  gentleman.  "No,  sir,  I  am  a 
full-blooded  Yankee,"  said  Allen,  and  went  on  to  use 
his  matchless  powers  of  banter  against  the  other, 
until  the  latter  made  a  confused  retreat  amidst  the 
laughter  of  the  onlookers. 

Another  day,  a  gentleman  expressing  a  desire  to 
do  something  for  him,  Allen  replied  that  he  would  be 
obliged  for  a  bowl  of  punch.  The  gentleman  sent 
his  servant  away,  who  returned  presently  with  punch 
and  offered  it  to  Allen.  The  hero  of  Ticonderoga 
refused  to  take  the  bowl  from  the  hand  of  a  servant. 
The  gentleman  then  handed  it  himself  to  Allen,  who 
proposed  that  the  two  should  drink  together.  The 
gentleman  said  he  must  refuse  to  drink  with  a  state 
criminal.  Allen  thereupon,  with  a  look  of  superior 
indifference,  raised  the  bowl  and  drank  the  whole 
contents  at  one  long  draught,  and  then  gave  the 
bowl  back  to  the  gentleman.  The  crowd  shouted 


242  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

with  laughter,  in  which  Allen,  quickly  affected  by 
this  extraordinary  tipple,  presently  joined ;  and  when 
he  accompanied  Dick  back  to  the  cell  he  was  in  a 
state  of  great  jubilation. 

There  was  much  conjecture  among  the  prisoners 
as  to  their  ultimate  fate.  Allen  told  his  comrades 
that  a  Mr.  Temple,  from  America,  had  whispered  to 
him  that  bets  were  laid  in  London  that  he  should  be 
hanged.  This  gentleman's  information  must  have 
been  meant  as  friendly,  for  it  had  been  accompanied 
by  a  guinea  secretly  bestowed.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  had  been  hinted  on  the  parade-ground  that 
certain  gentlemen  intended  to  attempt  freeing  the 
prisoners  by  the  habeas  corpus  act,  or  having  them 
brought  to  trial  before  a  magistrate. 

"  I  have  a  project  that  should  make  the  govern 
ment  think  twice  before  stringing  any  of  us  up,"  said 
Allen  one  day  to  Dick.  He  then  obtained  the  com 
mandant's  permission  to  write  a  letter,  which  he  did, 
addressing  it  to  the  Illustrious  Continental  Congress, 
describing  his  present  state,  and  requesting  that  no 
retaliation  be  made  upon  General  Prescott  and  other 
English  prisoners  until  it  be  known  how  England 
would  treat  himself  and  his  companions. 

"But,"  said  Dick,  "that  letter  will  surely  be 
opened  and  sent  to  the  English  authorities,  if  any 
where." 

"That   is   exactly   where   I   desire   it   shall  go," 


"BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD."  243 

replied  Allen ;  "  and  it's  ten  to  one  we  shall  fare 
the  better  in  consequence." 

The  next  day  the  commandant,  to  whom  the  let 
ter  had  been  entrusted,  jocularly  asked  Allen  if  he 
thought  they  were  fools  in  England,  and  told  him 
the  letter  had  been  sent  to  Lord  North.  That  its 
effects  were  such  as  Allen  had  predicted,  was  soon 
shown,  but  not  until  after  Dick,  suddenly  presented 
with  an  opportunity,  had  severed  his  fortunes  from 
those  of  his  fellow  prisoners  in  Pendennis  Castle. 

Some  of  Allen's  visitors  came  fifty  miles  to  see 
him.  One  afternoon,  while  he  was  on  the  parade- 
ground,  discoursing  with  several  gentlemen  and  ladies, 
and  accompanied  by  Dick,  a  horse  took  fright  just 
outside  the  outer  gateway,  at  which  its  rider,  who 
had  journeyed  far  to  behold  the  famous  prisoner,  was 
about  to  dismount.  The  scared  animal,  after  a  few 
wild  turns  and  plunges,  galloped  madly  through  the 
open  gateway  and  straight  for  the  group  surrounding 
Allen.  The  people  fell  back  in  confusion,  women 
shrieking,  men  taken  by  surprise  ;  visitors,  prisoners, 
and  guards  huddled  into  one  disorderly  mass.  The 
horse  threw  its  rider,  and  reared  before  the  crowd, 
with  fiery  eyes  and  snorting  nostrils. 

Suddenly  a  man  was  seen  to  rush  out  from  the 
group,  seize  the  horse's  bridle  with  both  hands 
together,  bring  the  animal  to  its  fore-knees,  place 
both  hands  on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  leap  astride 


244  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

the  horse,  and  make  it  rear  again  on  its  hind  legs. 
As  if  resolved  to  get  the  beast  under  control  at  any 
effort,  this  volunteer  horse-tamer  brought  its  head 
sharply  around  to  face  the  gate,  towards  which  it 
bolted  with  such  sudden  speed  that  the  two  guards 
there  stood  back  in  terror.  Once  out  of  the  gate,  the 
animal  headed  for  Falmouth  at  a  furious  gallop. 

The  panic-stricken  crowd  on  the  parade-ground 
now  breathed  again,  and  separated  into  its  three 
elements,  —  spectators,  guards,  and  prisoner,  —  for, 
lo  and  behold,  there  remained  now  but  one  of  the 
two  prisoners !  On  the  ground  lay  the  fallen  cap  of 
the  other,  who  had  lost  it  in  his  struggle  with  the 
horse,  and  who,  now  being  borne  swiftly  towards 
Falmouth,  was  none  other  than  Dick  Wetheral. 

There  was  some  question,  with  Lieutenant  Hamil 
ton  and  his  officers,  as  to  whether  the  prisoner  in 
tended  to  escape  or  merely  to  conquer  the  frightened 
horse.  Hence  some  time  elapsed  before  finally  the 
alarm-gun  was  fired  and  a  searching  party  sent  out. 
Meanwhile,  Dick  Wetheral,  who  could  never  after 
ward  recall  at  exactly  what  moment  his  impulse  to 
stop  the  horse  had  turned  into  the  idea  of  making  a 
dash  for  liberty,  allowed  the  horse  to  run  away  with 
him  at  its  best  speed.  While  rapidly  approaching 
Falmouth,  he  did  a  thing  that  he  had  often  heard 
old  Tom  describe  as  having  been  done  by  certain 
mountebanks,  and  which,  as  his  hands  were  com- 


"BY  FLOOD   AND  FIELD."  24$ 

paratively  small,  he  had  practised  with  success  in 
prison,  —  he  folded  each  hand  lengthwise,  and,  with 
some  painful  scraping  of  skin  at  his  thumb-joints, 
worked  off  his  handcuffs,  which  he  then  tossed  into 
a  pool  of  water  at  the  roadside. 

He  knew  it  would  not  be  safe  for  him  to  enter 
the  town,  and,  therefore,  as  the  horse  presently 
calmed  of  its  own  accord,  Dick  dismounted,  gave  the 
animal  a  smart  slap  to  make  it  proceed  on  its  way, 
and  hastened  down  towards  some  fishermen's  squat 
houses  that  lay  near  the  beach  on  the  outskirts  of 
Falmouth.  Noticing  several  boats  drawn  up  on  the 
sands,  Dick  knocked  at  the  first  door  in  his  way, 
and  brought  forth  an  old  woman,  who,  on  his  asking 
how  he  might  get  some  one  to  row  him  across  the 
bay,  turned  out  to  be  half  blind,  half  deaf,  and  stu 
pidly  indifferent.  While  he  was  making  his  desires 
clearer  to  her,  he  heard  an  ominous  boom  from  the 
castle. 

He  knew  this  to  be  the  alarm-gun,  and  looked  to 
see  what  would  be  its  effect  on  the  old  woman,  but 
her  unaltered  features  proved  the  genuineness  of  her 
deafness.  At  last  Dick  elicited  that  all  the  able- 
bodied  men  of  the  hamlet  were  in  the  town,  at  some 
merrymaking,  but  that  she  could  hire  a  boat  to  him, 
which  he  might  row  himself,  and  which,  as  he  said 
he  would  not  soon  return  that  way,  he  might  leave 
in  the  care  of  a  certain  fisherman  at  St.  Mawes. 


246  THE   ROAD    TO  PARTS. 

Dick  paid  her  out  of  what  money  he  had  kept  ever 
since  leaving  Arnold's  camp,  and  she  thereupon 
helped  him  drag  a  small  boat  out  into  the  waves, 
and  steadied  it  for  him  while  he  clambered  aboard. 

His  first  attempts  at  rowing  were  wild  efforts,  for 
this  bay  of  the  ocean  was  as  different  a  matter  from 
the  smooth  Pennsylvania  rivers  and  creeks,  as  oars 
were  different  from  canoe  paddles.  But  difficult 
arts  are  soon  acquired  when  they  have  to  be,  and  by 
those  who  will  admit  nothing  to  be  impossible  to 
themselves  that  is  possible  to  any  other.  Dick  at 
last  contrived  to  make  some  kind  of  headway,  thanks 
to  the  serenity  of  the  weather  and  to  the  favoring 
tide.  By  the  time,  therefore,  when  the  guards  from 
the  castle  passed  the  fishing  hamlet,  on  the  track 
of  the  horse,  Dick  was  merely  an  unrecognizable 
boatman  well  out  in  the  bay. 

The  trip  to  St.  Mawes,  a  small  matter  to  a 
practised  waterman,  was  to  Dick  one  of  great  per 
sistence  and  several  hours,  by  reason  of  his  inexperi 
ence,  through  which  he  covered  twice  or  thrice  the 
distance  to  be  traversed.  It  was  dusk  when,  at  last, 
after  many  a  dubious  look  at  the  castle  of  St.  Mawes 
that  crowned  the  overlooking  hill,  he  felt  the  boat 
grate  violently  underneath,  sounded  with  his  oar, 
leaped  out  into  the  water,  and  dragged  the  boat  up 
the  beach,  now  aided  and  now  impeded  by  the  in- 
rolling  and  receding  waves. 


"BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD?  247 

He  was  at  the  end  of  the  single  street  of  a  misera 
ble  hamlet  lying  under  a  hill  and  fronting  the  sea. 
No  human  creature  was  abroad  to  see  him  land.  He 
therefore,  in  order  to  change  his  appearance  as  much 
as  possible  from  that  of  an  American  hunter  to  that 
of  an  English  rustic,  did  away  with  his  belt  and 
leggings,  so  that  his  hunting-shirt,  being  of  linsey- 
woolsey,  looked  something  like  a  countryman's  frock, 
while  his  stockings,  similar  to  those  of  English  make, 
were  now  in  view.  He  knocked  at  one  of  the  huts, 
ascertained  the  abode  of  the  man  in  whose  charge  he 
was  to  leave  the  boat,  found  that  person  in,  gave  out 
that  he  was  returning  to  his  home  near  Exeter  from 
a  journey  in  search  of  a  place  in  service,  was  regaled 
with  a  frugal  and  fishy  supper  for  a  consideration, 
and  then  set  out  afoot  towards  Tregoney,  saying  he 
had  a  relation  there  with  whom  he  would  pass  the 
night.  It  was  from  the  man's  own  talk  that  Dick 
had  learned  the  name  and  location  of  this  village, 
which  was  eight  miles  northeastward. 

While  Dick  was  plodding  along  over  those  eight 
miles,  with  no  further  plan  than  to  get  out  of  the 
vicinity  of  Pendennis  Castle,  it  began  to  snow. 
Passing  through  two  villages  on  the  way,  he  arrived 
at  Tregoney,  a  decent-looking  place,  about  nine 
o'clock.  He  stayed  there  no  longer  than  to  buy  an 
old  hat  from  an  aged  poor  man  whose  sons  worked 
in  the  tin-mines  at  St.  Austel,  and  from  whom  Dick, 


248  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

having  said  that  his  former  hat  had  been  blown  into 
the  Fal  by  a  gust  of  wind,  obtained  information  as 
to  the  road  ahead. 

Learning  that  there  was  a  good  inn  at  Lostwithiel, 
sixteen  miles  farther  northeast,  he  decided  to  pro 
ceed  thither.  The  snow  increasing,  and  Dick  stop 
ping  to  rest  in  some  sheltered  spot  in  each  of  three 
intervening  villages,  these  sixteen  miles  were  a  long 
business.  To  a  survivor  of  the  march  through 
Maine,  however,  the  cold  and  the  snow  seemed  no 
great  inconvenience. 

When  he  reached  Lostwithiel,  though,  Dick  was 
so  fatigued,  with  his  walk  of  twenty-four  miles  and 
his  row  across  the  bay,  that  he  fell  asleep  almost  as 
soon  as  his  body  was  stretched  on  a  bed  in  one  of 
the  inn's  inferior  rooms,  to  which  he  had  been  con 
ducted  from  the  kitchen,  where  he  had  found  an  inn 
servant  already  up,  despite  the  fact  that  the  day  soon 
to  dawn  was  Sunday.  This  servant  was  a  stout 
female,  whose  impressionability  to  masculine  merits 
made  easy  Dick's  admittance  to  the  inn,  which  might 
otherwise  have  rejected  such  a  guest  arriving  at  such 
an  hour.  It  was  not  yet  daylight,  but  dawn  was 
near  enough  to  enable  Dick,  before  closing  his  eyes, 
to  receive  a  vague  impression  of  the  open  spire  of 
St.  Bartholomew's  Church  through  the  falling  snow. 
It  made  him  think  of  Quebec,  and  he  drowsily  won 
dered  what,  at  that  moment,  might  be  doing  with  old 


"BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD."  249 

Tom,  with  Captain  Hendricks,  Simpson,  Steele,  and 
the  others  of  the  army  far  across  seas  in  Canada. 

What  was  doing  with  them  at  that  moment  ?  It 
was  then  a  little  after  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  at 
Lostvvithiel,  two  o'clock  the  same  morning  at  Que 
bec.  The  morning  was  that  of  December  31,  1775. 
This  is  what  was  occurring  at  Quebec  : 

Snow  was  falling  there  also,  but  in  a  far  more  vio 
lent  storm.  Wind  was  blowing  the  snow  in  drifts, 
and  with  the  snow  there  was  a  cutting  sleet.  The 
beginning  of  the  night  had  been  moonlit,  but  at 
twelve  the  sky  was  overcast,  and  then  came  the 
storm.  This  snowfall  by  night  was  a  thing  for 
which  the  Americans  had  been  waiting.  Montgom 
ery  had  at  last  come  up  from  Montreal  with  three 
hundred  men,  and  joined  Arnold  at  Point  aux 
Trembles,  December  1st.  The  army  had  started  the 
next  day,  amid  whirling  flakes,  for  Quebec ;  had 
arrived  before  the  city  on  the  5th,  Montgomery  hav 
ing  found  Arnold's  men  a  fine  corps,  well  disciplined. 
Later,  a  breastwork  had  been  thrown  up  to  face 
the  gate  of  St.  Louis  ;  and,  by  means  of  a  battery 
mounted  partly  on  ice  and  snow,  shells  had  been 
thrown  into  the  town,  starting  fires  in  several  places. 

But  the  heavy  guns  from  Quebec's  walls  had  so  dealt 

\ 

with  this  battery  that  it  had  been  removed.  Thence 
forth,  execution  from  the  American  side  had  been 
done  mainly  by  mortars  and  riflemen,  placed  in 


25O  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

the  suburb  of  St.  Roque,  outside  Palace  Gate.  It 
had  finally  been  decided  to  carry  the  town  by 
escalade,  and  this  was  to  be  attempted  during  the 
first  snow-storm,  such  as  that  which  finally  came  on 
this  night  preceding  Sunday,  December  3ist.  The 
plan  adopted  was  that  the  lower  town  should  be 
taken  first,  Arnold  leading  an  attack  on  its  northern 
end,  Montgomery  leading  one  on  its  southern  end ; 
demonstrations  being  made  against  the  upper  town 
at  St.  John's  Gate  and  at  the  Bastion  of  Cape 
Diamond,  to  distract  attention  from  the  attacks 
below  ;  signal-rockets  to  be  fired  in  order  that  all 
four  movements  should  be  made  at  the  same  time. 
At  midnight  the  men  repaired  to  quarters  from 
the  farms  and  drinking-houses  whereat  they  had  been 
scattered.  At  two,  they  began  their  march,  strug 
gling  against  a  biting  wind,  their  faces  stung  by  the 
snow  horizontally  driven,  the  locks  of  their  guns 
held  under  the  lappets  of  their  coats  to  avoid  being 
wetted  by  the  snow.  Old  Tom  and  the  other  rifle 
men  were  in  their  usual  place  in  Arnold's  division, 
which  was  to  enter  the  lower  town  at  its  narrow 
northern  end,  passing  between  the  promontory's  foot 
and  the  frozen  St.  Charles  River.  Through  the  suburb 
and  streets  of  St.  Roque,  they  breasted  the  snowy 
darkness  ;  first  went  Arnold,  at  the  head  of  a  for 
lorn  hope  of  twenty-five  men,  one  hundred  yards 
before  the  main  body ;  then  Captain  Lamb  and  his 


"BY  FLOOD   AND  FIELD." 

artillery  company,  drawing  a  field-piece  on  a  sledge ; 
next,  a  company  with  ladders  and  other  scaling  im 
plements  ;  then,  Morgan  and  his  company,  heading 
the  riflemen  ;  next,  the  Lancaster  company,  led,  in 
Captain  Smith's  absence,  by  Steele ;  then  the  Cum 
berland  County  men,  with  their  own  captain,  for 
Hendricks,  though  the  command  of  the  guard  that 
morning  belonged  to  him,  had  got  leave  to  take  part 
in  the  attack ;  and  last,  the  New  England  troops. 
The  division  would  have  first  to  pass  a  battery  on  a 
wharf,  which  the  field-piece  was  to  attack  and  the 
forlorn  hope  scale  with  ladders,  while  Morgan  should 
lead  the  riflemen  around  the  wharf  on  the  ice. 

Old  Tom  plodded  not  far  behind  Hendricks,  the 
men  straggling  onward  in  single  file.  As  they 
approached  the  houses  below  Palace  Gate,  which 
led  from  the  upper  town  on  their  right,  there 
suddenly  burst  forth  a  thunder  of  cannon,  which 
mingled  soon  with  the  alarming  clang  of  all  the 
bells  in  the  city.  "They've  spied  our  intentions," 
muttered  old  Tom  to  the  man  ahead,  and  strode  on. 

Presently  muskets  blazed  from  the  ramparts  above. 
Men  began  to  drop  here  and  there  and  to  writhe  in 
the  snow,  but  their  comrades  hurried  over  or  around 
them.  Hendricks's  soldiers  could  not  see  far  ahead, 
for  the  darkness  and  the  blinding  snow ;  nor  could 
they  always  make  out  the  path  left  by  Arnold, 
Lamb,  and  the  riflemen  in  advance.  They  could 


252  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

see  nothing  of  the  foe  save  the  flashes  of  the  mus 
kets  from  the  walls  crowning  the  ascent  at  their 
right. 

Presently  they  became  aware  of  some  kind  of 
stoppage  ahead ;  it  was  made  by  the  artillerymen, 
whose  field-piece  had  stuck  hopelessly  in  a  snow 
drift.  The  company  with  the  scaling-ladders  made 
as  if  to  stop  also ;  but  Morgan  was  at  their  heels, 
forcing  them  forward,  hastening  on  his  own  com 
pany,  and  swearing  terribly  in  a  voice  that  rivalled 
the  tumult  of  bells  and  cannon.  So  the  riflemen, 
preceded  by  the  ladder-bearers,  -passed  on  through 
the  opening  made  for  them  by  the  artillery  company. 

Th.ey  were  nearing  the  first  barrier  now ;  the 
uproar  of  the  unseen  enemy's  fire  was  more  ter 
rific.  And  now  Hendricks's  men  saw  pass  a  group 
that  was  returning  as  with  reluctance  and  difficulty, 
—  two  men  supporting  between  them  a  third,  who  was 
so  badly  wounded  in  the  leg  that  he  could  not  stand 
unaided.  It  was  Colonel  Arnold,  upheld  by  Parson 
Spring  and  Mr.  Ogden.  "  Forward,  my  brave  men  ! " 
cried  Arnold,  in  a  strong  and  heartening  voice,  and 
the  riflemen  cheered  and  passed  on. 

They  soon  saw  that  Morgan  had  taken  command, 
and,  amid  the  inevitable  crowding  together  near  the 
barrier,  they  found  themselves  in  close  company 
with  the  forlorn  hope,  headed  now  by  Arnold's 
secretary,  Oswald,  and  with  Lamb  and  his  artillery- 


"BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD."  253 

men,  who  had  left  their  field-piece  in  order  to  wield 
muskets  and  bayonets. 

Forward  rushed  Morgan  and  the  advance  com 
panies,  right  through  a  discharge  of  grape-shot  from 
the  two  cannon  commanding  the  defile.  Forward, 
without  slackening,  upon  the  battery,  some  scaling 
the  walls,  some  firing  through  the  embrasures ;  pour 
ing  over  and  through,  seizing  the  captain  and  thirty 
of  his  men  as  prisoners,  driving  the  rest  of  the 
guard  away,  and  taking  the  enemy's  dry  muskets 
to  use  instead  of  their  own  damp  ones. 

Then  Morgan  formed  his  men  as  he  could,  and  led 
them  on  to  take  the  second  barrier.  The  day  was 
about  to  dawn  now,  and,  although  Morgan's  men 
knew  it  not,  the  false  attack  planned  against  St. 
John's  Gate  had  failed  of  being  made ;  the  feint 
against  the  Bastion  of  Cape  Diamond  had  served 
its  purpose  to  conceal  Montgomery's  march  along 
the  shore  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  but  Montgomery, 
while  leading  his  men  from  the  stockade  whence 
Dick  Wetheral  had  once  been  fired  upon,  towards 
the  blockhouse  within,  had  fallen  in  death  before 
a  discharge  of  grape-shot,  while  his  triumphant  cry, 
"  Push  on,  my  brave  boys,  Quebec  is  ours !  "  still 
rang  in  the  ears  of  his  New  Yorkers.  Montgomery's 
men  had  thereupon  retreated,  and  thus  the  British 
force,  warned  of  the  very  first  movements  by  a  too 
early  discharge  of  the  signal-rockets,  was  enabled  to 


254  TIIE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

concentrate  against  the  division  now  between  the 
first  and  second  northern  barriers  of  the  lower  town. 

Morgan's  advance  followed  a  curving  course  along 
the  sides  of  houses,  to  where  the  narrow  street  was 
crossed,  not  far  up  from  its  mouth,  by  the  second 
barrier,  which  was  at  least  twelve  feet  high.  Mean 
while  Morgan  had  despatched  Captain  Dearborn, 
with  a  party,  to  prevent  the  enemy's  coming  from 
the  upper  town  through  Palace  Gate  and  down  the 
promontory's  St.  Charles  side,  which  was  neither  as 
high  nor  as  steep  as  the  St.  Lawrence  side. 

Behind  the  barrier  now  to  be  taken,  was  a  plat 
form  whence  cannon  poured  grape-shot,  defended  by 
two  ranges  of  musketeers  with  fixed  bayonets.  The 
enemy  fired  also  from  the  upper  windows  of  houses 
beyond.  The  Americans  speedily  upbuilt  an  eleva 
tion  to  a  height  approaching  that  of  the  barrier,  men 
falling  all  the  while  beneath  the  fire  from  the  barrier, 
the  houses  beyond,  and  the  walls  far  above  at  the 
right.  Morgan's  first  lieutenant,  Humphreys,  climbed 
this  mound  to  scale  the  barrier,  but  a  row  of  bayonets 
forced  him  back. 

Seeing  the  impregnability  of  the  barrier  to  his 
present  force,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  that  force 
was  depleted  by  the  terrible  fire,  Morgan  thundered 
and  cursed.  Hendricks  and  Steele  were  calm,  en 
couraging  their  men  to  patience,  and  directing  them 
whither  to  return  the  enemy's  fire.  At  last  Lieu- 


"BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD."  2$$ 

tenant  Humphreys  fell  in  the  street,  dying  on  the 
spot.  Then  Morgan  ordered  his  men  to  enter  a 
house  close  to  the  barrier,  and  fire  from  the  windows. 
Into  the  house  and  up  to  the  second  story  rushed 
Hendricks,  Steele,  Tom  MacAlister,  and  many  others. 
Steele  ran  to  the  first  window  and  aimed  his  gun  to 
wards  the  barrier ;  but,  without  firing,  he  suddenly 
stepped  back  with  a  sharp  cry,  and  held  up  one  of 
his  hands  to  look  at  it,  entrusting  his  gun  wholly  to 
the  other.  Where  three  fingers  had  been,  there  were 
now  three  crimson  stumps.  Hendricks  and  MacAl 
ister  took  another  window.  As  Hendricks  was  about 
to  shoot,  a  ball  tore  its  way  to  his  heart ;  he  low 
ered  his  rifle,  took  on  a  swift  look  of  pain,  staggered 
a  few  feet  backward,  fell  with  half  his  body  on  a 
bed,  and  died  there  almost  instantly.  While  the  hell 
continued  in  and  about  the  house,  as  the.  daylight 
increased,  a  party  of  British  rushed  out  from  Palace 
Gate,  captured  Dearborn  and  his  men,  fell  upon  the 
rear  of  Morgan's  party,  and  presently,  when  the 
dauntless  Virginian  had  had  his  rage  out,  received 
the  surrender  of  him  and  his  officers  and  men.  "  I 
wonder,"  thought  old  Tom  MacAlister,  as  he  marched 
in  the  line  of  prisoners  to  the  great  ruined  Franciscan 
monastery,  near  the  Reguliers,  "  how  the  lad  Dick 
would  'a'  fared  if  he'd  been  wi'  us  the  braw  night 
past  ?  Weel,  weel,  maybe  it's  better  he  was  called 
away  when  he  was,  for,  whether  he  be  on  the  earth 


256  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

or  under,  it's  little  he'd  'a'  relished  rinding  out  'twas 
for  this  we  marched  through  Maine  and  hungered 
and  froze  in  the  snaws  of  Canada  !  " 

'Twas  for  that,  had  been  the  planning  and  the 
money  -  spending,  the  suffering  and  the  starving, 
the  toils  and  the  bloodshed,  —  for  that,  and  for  the 
glory  of  heroic  failure. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THREE  WHIMSICAL  GENTLEMEN  AND  A  BEAUTIFUL 
LADY. 

UNDER  the  protection  of  the  maid-servant,  who 
was  mature  and  fat,  Dick  Wetheral  was  allowed  to 
slumber  till  the  afternoon.  He  awoke  entirely  re 
freshed,  and,  after  a  curious  look  through  his  small 
window  at  the  snow-covered  little  town  with  its  pic 
turesque  church  spire,  he  went  down  to  the  kitchen, 
and  in  a  corner  thereof  he  satisfied  a  prodigious  appe 
tite  ;  upon  which  he  felt  himself  in  excellent  physi 
cal  condition.  His  slight  flesh-wound,  received  at 
Quebec,  had  healed  on  his  sea-voyage,  thanks  to 
the  persistent  health  of  his  blood,  and  despite  the 
badness  of  other  circumstances. 

He  walked  but  twelve  miles  that  day,  arriving  after 
nightfall  at  Liskeard,  and  lodging  till  morning  at  an 
inn  near  the  handsome  Gothic  church  of  St.  Martin. 
When  he  came  to  pay  his  bill  he  found  it  took  all  his 
money  but  a  few  pence,  and  thus  he  set  forth,  on 
the  first  day  of  the  year  1776,  bound  eastward,  with 
empty  pockets,  friendless  in  a  strange  and  hostile 

257 


258  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

land,  with  no  fixed  intention  save  the  vague  one  of 
eventually  returning  to  fight  for  his  country,  with 
no  present  plan  save  to  keep  moving  on. 

Not  seeking  food  once  during  a  journey  of  seven 
teen  miles,  he  finally  crossed  the  Tamer,  from  Corn 
wall  into  Devonshire,  and  arrived  at  Tavistock  with 
less  curiosity  to  view  the  vestiges  of  the  tenth  cen 
tury  abbey  there,  than  to  -learn  where  his  dinner  was 
to  come  from.  He  had  decided  to  beg,  if  necessary ; 
he  considered  that  his  own  people,  as  was  the  cus 
tom  of  his  country,  entertained  freely  every  hungry 
or  roofless  man  that  came  to  their  home  in  the  wil 
derness,  therefore  some  hospitality  was  due  him  from 
the  world  at  large ;  and  he  reasoned  that,  being  now 
among  a  hostile  people,  whose  government  was  respon 
sible  for  his  present  situation,  he  was  morally  entitled, 
without  reproach,  to  whatever  he  could,  in  the  name 
of  charity,,  obtain  from  that  people.  Profiting  by 
some  of  Tom  MacAlister's  related  experiences,  he 
had  bethought  himself,  on  the  road,  of  certain  pos 
sible  methods  of  overcoming  charity's  coyness. 

The  first  door  at  which  he  knocked,  in  Tavistock, 
was  promptly  shut  in  his  face,  by  a  man  who  blurted 
out  something  about  rogues  and  vagabonds,  and  ere 
Dick's  civil  greeting  was  finished.  At  the  next  house 
a  frowning  old  woman  was  equally  inhospitable.  But 
at  the  third,  the  cottage  of  a  serge-weaver,  the  young 
girl  who  opened  the  door  allowed  her  soft  eyes  to  rest 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  259 

on  Dick  before  making  a  move  to  close  it,  and  Dick 
improved  the  moment  to  assure  her  that  he  was  no 
common  rogue  and  vagabond,  but  an  honest  teller  of 
fortunes  by  cards,  who  saw  already  in  her  face  the 
signs  of  a  great  surprise  in  her  own  immediate 
future.  The  girl  opened  the  door  wider,  and  Dick 
stepped  in  with  such  a  courteous  bow  to  the  two 
other  occupants  of  the  room  that  they  rose  instinc 
tively  to  receive  him,  blinded  to  his  garb  by  his 
gentlemanly  bearing.  It  was  meal-time,  and  the 
family  at  table  consisted  of  father,  mother,  and  the 
girl  who  had  opened  the  door. 

Dick  lost  no  time,  but  asked  for  a  pack  of  cards, 
with  such  a  smile,  and  so  much  as  if  the  request 
were  the  most  natural  one  possible,  that  the  mother 
told  the  girl  where  the  cards  were,  and  the  girl 
immediately  brought  them.  Dick  began  by  telling 
the  fortune  of  the  head  of  the  house,  who  was 
so  diverted  with  the  prediction  of  a  gift  from  a  dark 
man,  that  Dick's  invention  was  allowed  full  exercise 
regarding  the  future  destiny  of  each  member  of  the 
family.  The  mother  then  speaking  of  a  dream  she 
had  recently  had,  Dick  promptly  offered  to  interpret 
it  for  her,  and  its  meaning  was  so  favorable  that  the 
interpreter  was  soon  in  the  way  to  gorge  himself 
with  beef  and  ale.  He  then  did  some  card  tricks 
that  Tom  had  taught  him,  and,  perceiving  that  a 
pack  of,  cards  would  thereafter  be  a  useful  implement 


26O  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

to  him,  eventually  won  the  cards  themselves,  on  a 
bet  as  to  the  location  of  a  certain  one  of  them. 
Having  found  that  his  card  tricks  amused,  he  re 
solved  to  rely  on  them  thereafter,  and  not  to  stoop 
again  to  fortune-telling,  an  old  woman's  business 
adopted  by  him  for  the  once  as  most  likely  means 
of  exciting  the  girl's  curiosity. 

He  went  from  the  weaver's  house  to  the  inn  hard  by 
the  church  of  St.  Eustache,  and,  obtaining  a  friendly 
reception  by  the  conciliating  manner  and  flattering 
air  with  which  he  accosted  the  servants,  passed  the 
afternoon  in  manipulating  the  cards,  to  the  mystifica 
tion  of  kitchen  wenches,  ostlers,  and  tipplers  of  low 
degree  ;  winning  a  few  sixpences  from  the  last  named 
in  a  fair  game  of  skill.  He  thus  earned  a  supper  in 
a  kitchen,  and  a  bed  in  the  stable-loft. 

The  next  day  he  walked  twenty-one  miles,  cross 
ing  Dartmoor  Forest  and  the  vast  common,  doing 
card  tricks  for  a  meal  in  a  farmer's  cottage  at 
each  one  of  two  villages,  and  lodging  for  the  night 
at  Moreton  Hampstead,  where  his  procedure  at  the 
inn  was  in  general  similar  to  that  at  Tavistock. 

In  the  morning  he  went  on  to  Exeter,  which  — 
with  its  antique  houses,  its  splendid  cathedral  of  St. 
Peter  flanked  by  the  old  bishop's  palace,  its  ruined 
castle  of  West  Saxon  kings,  its  bustling  High  Street, 
its  bridge  across  the  Exe,  and  its  busy  quay  —  im 
pressed  Dick  the  more  for  its  being  the  first  large 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  26 1 

town  of  England  to  greet  his  eyes.  He  remained 
here  many  days,  going  from  inn-yard  to  inn-yard, 
and,  in  the  poorer  quarters,  from  house  to  house ; 
always  with  an  address  so  polite  and  amiable  that 
few  resisted  or  distrusted  him.  His  look  and  manner 
were  so  different  from  those  of  the  common  way 
farer  or  mountebank  that  he  found  he  need  stand  in 
no  fear  of  being  dealt  with  as  a  vagrant.  He  added 
to  his  resources  some  of  Tom's  old  conjuring  feats, 
which  he  made  new  by  means  of  the  glib,  humorous 
speeches  he  was  soon  able  to  rattle  off.  A  cause  of 
his  prolonged  stay  at  Exeter  was  the  great  snowfall 
and  frost,  which  began  January  7th,  with  a  high  east 
ern  wind,  froze  the  rivers,  and  put  to  shame  all 
recollections  of  cold  weather  that  dated  since  the 
memorable  hard  winter  of  1739-40.  Dick  spent 
most  of  this  time  in  entertaining  snow-bound  travel 
lers  of  low  degree,  at  the  inns,  receiving  in  payment 
now  a  meal,  now  a  share  of  a  bed,  now  a  few  small 
coins.  There  were  nights,  though,  when  he  lodged 
outside,  taking  short  naps  in  some  sheltering  angle 
of  the  cathedral,  and  rousing  himself  at  intervals  to 
stir  his  blood  by  walking. 

On  the  2d  of  February  the  wind  changed  and 
blew  from  the  south.  Waiting  a  few  days  more,  so 
as  to  be  less  inconvenienced  by  the  thaw,  Dick 
started  northward,  passing  through  a  beautiful  coun 
try  partly  in  sight  of  the  Exe,  dined  at  Collumpton, 


262  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

and  proceeded  in  the  afternoon  to  Wellington  in 
Somersetshire,  where  he  lay  for  the  night  in  an  open 
shed  appertaining  to  the  inn.  The  next  morning, 
paying  for  breakfast  with  the  last  of  the  coins 
he  had  earned  at  Exeter,  he  went  on  to  the  sweet 
vale  of  Taunt  on  Dean,  and  arrived  penniless  at  the 

town    of    Taunton,    where   a    singular   thing   befell 

f 

him. 

He  had  stopped  to  look  into  an  inn-yard,  to  see 
whether  the  time  was  propitious  for  his  obtaining 
the  attention  of  servants  and  inferior  guests,  and 
thus  for  his  paving  the  way  to  one  of  his  un 
licensed  performances,  when  a  post-chaise  drove  up 
and  let  out  a  richly  dressed  young  gentleman,  with 
a  portmanteau  and  a  gold-headed  cane,  but  not 
attended  by  any  private  servant. 

As  he  was  about  to  enter  the  inn,  this  young 
gentleman,  who  was  of  a  sedate  and  self-contained 
demeanor,  stopped  for  a  moment,  regarded  Dick 
with  a  sudden  but  civil  interest,  and  half  perceptibly 
smiled  ;  he  then  passed  in,  while  a  menial  shouldered 
his  portmanteau  and  followed. 

Dick  knew  at  once  the  cause  of  the  look  of  in 
terest  and  of  the  smile.  He  was  still  pondering  on 
it  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  the  gentleman  came 
out  of  the  inn,  greeted  him  with  most  kindly  con 
descension,  and  said,  in  a  quiet  tone,  while  making 
sure  by  swift  side-glances  that  no  one  overheard  : 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  263 

"  My  good  man,  I  see  you,  too,  have  noticed  how 
much  we  look  like  each  other." 

"In  the  face,  yes,"  replied  Dick;  "but  not  as 
much  in  the  clothes." 

"  Quite  true,"  said  the  gentleman,  with  an  appre 
ciative  smile.  "I  was  just  about  to  speak  of  that. 
As  I  looked  at  you  and  noticed  the  resemblance  be 
tween  us,  I  couldn't  but  think  how  different  every 
thing  would  be  to  me  if  I  were  the  man  in  the 
smock-frock  and  you  were  the  man  in  the  velvet 
coat.  And  then  an  odd  idea  came  into  my  head. 
Said  I  to  myself,  '  Why  shouldn't  I  try  the  experi 
ment,  and  see  how  it  may  be  to  travel  a  short  way 
through  the  world  in  a  smock-frock  ? '  I'm  given  to 
whims,  you  see,  and,  moreover,  it  will  be  a  droll 
thing  for  me  to  appear,  clad  like  you,  at  the  house 
where  I'm  expected  to-night.  Ha !  How  my  lord 
vail  stare  to  see  me  come  in  !  In  fine,  my  good 
man,  I  propose  that  we  shall  exchange  clothes,  and 
go  on  our  different  ways  !  " 

"  You  mean  that,  for  the  clothes  I  have  on,  you 
would  give  me  those  you  wear  now  ? "  cried  Dick, 
astonished  and  amused. 

"  Precisely,  with  the  cane  and  snuff-box  thrown 
into  the  bargain." 

"  But  don't  you  know  you  can  buy  in  five  minutes 
a  suit  of  clothes  like  mine,  for  a  hundredth  part  of 
the  worth  of  all  you  offer  me  ? " 


264  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"Yes,  I  know  that,  of  course.  But,  you  see,  it 
would  attract  attention,  my  buying  such  clothes  — 

"  Oh,  for  that  matter,  I  can  buy  them  for  you." 

"  No,  for  then  they  would  either  be  new,  in  which 
case  my  —  ah  —  disguise  would  be  easier  seen 
through ;  or  they  would  be  second-hand,  and  then 
God  knows  who  might  have  worn  them  in  the  past ! 
Besides,  I  can  afford  to  pay  for  my  whims,  and  it  pleases 
me  to  think  that  you,  too,  who  resemble  me  so  much, 
would  have  the  benefit  of  my  clothes,  as  I  should  have 
of  yours.  Come !  Or,  rather,  wait  till  I  pay  in  ad 
vance  for  my  room,  which  I'll  occupy  but  half  an 
hour ;  then  I'll  take  you  to  it ;  we  can  change  imme 
diately,  and  go  forth  to  see  how  differently  the  world 
will  look  at  us." 

Convinced,  at  last,  that  it  was  no  insane  person  by 
whom  he  should  be  profiting,  Dick  saw  no  reason  for 
interposing  further  objections  ;  indeed,  those  already 
put  had  been  offered  merely  to  satisfy  his  natural 
scruples  against  being  on  the  better  side  of  so  uneven 
a  bargain,  for  the  idea  of  swaggering  awhile  in  costly 
raiment  had  instantly  attracted  him.  In  less  than 
an  hour  thereafter,  he  issued  from  the  inn,  fully  clad 
as  a  gentleman,  while  his  whimsical  acquaintance, 
slinking  out  as  unobserved  as  Dick  had  slunk  in, 
tipped  him  a  friendly  farewell  and  made  off  in  the 
opposite  direction,  shouldering  the  portmanteau  as  if 
he  were  a  hired  porter. 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  26$ 

As  Dick  strutted  along  the  busy  street,  glancing 
at  the  shop-windows,  and  in  turn  glanced  at  by  more 
than  one  pair  of  demure  eyes,  he  suddenly  bethought 
himself  that  a  gentleman  in  velvet  and  lace,  with  silk 
stockings  and  gold  buckles,  but  without  a  penny  in 
pocket  or  in  prospect,  was  a  somewhat  anomalous 
personage.  Moreover,  the  county  towns  and  coun 
try  villages  were  a  field  far  less  worth  shining  in  as 
a  gentleman  than  were  certain  fields  he  now  began 
to  think  he  might  soon  visit. 

He  therefore  visited  certain  dealers  in  the  town, 
and  by  dinner-time  he  was  minus  the  gold-headed 
cane  and  a  gold-mounted  snuff-box,  but  was  the 
richer  by  a  plainer  snuff-box ;  some  changes  of  linen, 
underclothes,  neck-cloths,  and  handkerchiefs ;  a  bag 
in  which  to  carry  all  his  movables  ;  and  a  suit  of 
clothes.  He  chose  the  last  with  a  view  to  the  fit 
only,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  it  was  a  game 
keeper's  costume.  At  another  inn  than  the  one 
where  he  had  met  the  stranger,  Dick  doffed  his  fine 
feathers,  put  on  the  gamekeeper's  suit,  and  dined, 
paying  for  his  dinner  with  some  money  he  had  over 
from  the  proceeds  of  the  cane  and  snuff-box. 

In  the  afternoon,  carrying  his  bag  of  clothes  slung 
by  a  stick  over  his  shoulder,  he  left  Taunton  behind, 
presently  abandoned  the  road  that  went  northward 
to  Bridgewater,  and  proceeded  northeastward,  trav 
ersing  charming  vales,  and  arriving  at  night  at  a 


266  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

village  about  half-way  between  Taunton  and  Glaston- 
bury.  His  pack  of  cards  earned  his  supper  and  bed, 
both  in  the  house  of  a  simple-minded  blacksmith. 

The  next  day  he  passed  through  Glastonbury, 
pausing  to  indulge  his  imagination  before  the  ruined 
abbey  in  which  Kings  Arthur  and  Edgar  were  buried, 
as  well  as  before  the  rotting  cross  in  the  town's  cen 
tre,  and  before  the  Tor  of  St.  Michael  on  the  hill 
northeast.  He  fed  nothing  but  his  imagination  at 
this  place,  and  hastened  on  to  Wells,  where  he  stayed 
his  stomach  further  while  admiring  the  magnificent 
west  front  of  the  Gothic  Cathedral,  the  high  square 
tower  and  ornate  exterior  of  St.  Cuthbert's  Church, 
and  the  other  fine  old  buildings. 

At  the  inn,  he  found,  among  other  travellers,  a 
party  of  lesser  gentry  on  whose  hands  time  hung 
heavily,  their  business  being  finished,  but  themselves 
being  unwilling  to  set  forth  on  a  Friday.  Dick  soon 
ingratiated  himself  with  these  gentlemen,  whose 
thick  and  empty  heads  were  already  astray  with 
punch,  wine,  and  ale;  and  he  was  made  not  only  a 
sharer  of  their  good  cheer,  but  the  sole  occupant  of 
the  bed  of  one  whom  he  tried  to  assist  thither  but 
who  persisted  in  sleeping  on  the  floor  instead. 

Leaving  early  the  next  morning,  ere  his  benefac 
tors  were  awake  to  eject  him  as  some  presuming 
plebeian  who  had  availed  himself  of  their  drunken 
ness,  Dick  proceeded  northeastward  towards  Bath,  his 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  267 

eyes  rejoicing  in  the  beauty  of  the  Mendip  hills  and 
the  surrounding  country. 

When  he  had  reached  a  spot  where  a  short  stretch 
of  road  before  him  had  a  delightfully  secluded  ap 
pearance,  by  reason  of  the  trees  that  overarched 
it,  and  the  varied  slopes  that  rose  gently  on  either 
hand,  those  on  the  left  extending  in  a  series  of 
shapely  hills  to  a  far  western  horizon,  he  began  to 
think  of  breakfast.  A  little  way  ahead,  a  vine-grown 
wall,  broken  by  high  gate-posts,  marked  the  roadside 
boundary  of  a  small,  sloping  park,  belonging  to  a 
country-seat  whose  towers  and  chimneys  rose  among 
the  trees  some  distance  within.  As  Dick  lay  down 
his  bag  to  rest,  there  came  from  a  small  door  in  the 
wall  a  gamekeeper,  who  immediately  raised  the  fowl 
ing-piece  he  carried,  and  fired  at  a  hawk  that  circled 
over  a  copse  at  Dick's  right.  The  shot  missed,  and 
the  gamekeeper  reloaded.  But  when  he  was  ready 
for  a  second  shot,  he  shouldered  his  gun,  evidently 
thinking  the  bird  out  of  range,  although  it  remained 
over  the  copse. 

"  I'll  bring  that  bird  down  for  you,  if  you  let  me," 
called  out  Dick,  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  just 
as  if  he  had  been  in  his  own  country. 

In  reply,  the  gamekeeper  stared  in  amazement. 
Dick  repeated  his  offer.  Then  the  gamekeeper 
found  words,  and  wrathfully  ordered  Dick  from 
the  premises,  calling  him  a  vagabond,  a  poacher, 


268  THE  ROAD    TO  PARTS. 

and  worse.  Dick  was  about  to  close  the  fellow's 
mouth  with  a  blow,  when  a  loud  voice,  one  that 
shifted  between  a  bellow  and  a  whine,  came  from 
the  direction  of  the  great  gate  : 

"  What's  amiss,  Perkins  ?  Hold  the  damned  ras 
cal  !  I'll  make  a  jailbird  of  him,  that  I  will !  What 
is  it,  Perkins  ?  Highway  robbery  ?  I'll  have  him  up, 
the  next  assizes  !  " 

By  this  time,  the  speaker,  having  got  out  of  a 
coach  just  as  it  was  being  driven  through  the  gate, 
had  come  up  to  where  Dick  and  the  gamekeeper 
stood.  He  was  a  large,  pot-bellied  man,  with  coarse 
features,  red  face,  and  bloodshot  eyes ;  a  man  of 
about  forty,  showing  in  his  movements  a  disability 
due  to  a  dissolute  life,  and  dressed  with  a  rich 
ness  that  did  not  avail  to  soften  the  impression 
of  grossness  he  produced. 

"  The  rascal  had  the  impudence  of  offering  to 
shoot  that  hawk,  sir,"  said  the  gamekeeper,  looking 
wroth  at  the  outrage. 

"What  hawk?"  queried  the  threatening  gentle 
man,  looking,  and  presently  sighting  the  only  one 
in  view.  "  That  hawk  ?  Odd's  life  !  If  the  rogue 
can  shoot  that  hawk  at  this  distance,  I'm  his  humble 
servant,  that  I  am  !  And  let  him  only  speak,  and 
the  place  of  under-keeper  shall  be  his,  damn  me 
twice  over  if  it  sha'n't !  D'ye  hear  that,  rascal  ? " 

Philosophically  ignoring  the  last  word,   Dick  re- 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  269 

plied,  "  If  Mr.  Perkins  will  hand  me  the  gun,  I'll 
show  you  how  we  shoot  in"  (he  was  going  to  say 
"America,"  but  checked  himself)  "the  county  I 
came  from." 

"  Give  him  the  gun,  Perkins,  give  him  the  gun ! " 
ordered  the  gentleman,  eagerly,  responding  to  any 
thing  that  appealed  to  his  love  of  shooting,  and 
already  preparing  to  jeer  in  case  of  Dick's  failure. 

Dick  took  the  gun,  aimed  -carefully,  fired  ;  the 
bird  fell  into  the  copse.  Whereupon  the  gentleman, 
forgetting  former  threats,  impulsively  applauded,  pro 
nounced  Dick  a  marvel,  and,  taking  it  from  his  garb 
that  he  was  a  gamekeeper,  began  a  brief  catechising 
that  resulted  in  Dick's  being  forthwith  installed  as 
Mr.  Perkins's  assistant,  in  a  lodge  at  the  farther  end 
of  Mr.  Bullcott's  woods,  —  for  Bullcott  was  the  name 
of  the  country  squire  whose  favor  Dick's  marksman 
ship  had  so  quickly  won.  Dick's  face,  and  the 
straight  account  of  himself  that  he  had  invented 
on  the  spot,  served  in  lieu  of  a  written  "charac 
ter  "  with  the  impulsive  and  unthinking  Squire 
Bulkott ;  as  subsequently  his  adaptiveness,  quick 
ness  of  perception,  and  conciliating  manner  enabled 
him  to  acquire  Perkins's  tolerance,  and  to  learn  the 
duties  of  his  post  so  soon  that  no  one  discovered  he 
had  never  filled  a  similar  one  before. 

In  this  situation  Dick  spent  the  rest  of  February, 
all  of  March,  and  great  part  of  April ;  having  little 


2/0  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

company  other  than  that  of  Perkins  and  the  dogs  ; 
rarely  seeing  his  master,  who  made  frequent  jour 
neys  from  home  ;  and  not  once  beholding  the  Squire's 
wife,  who,  said  Perkins,  was  usually  ailing  and  mostly 
kept  her  room.  He  might  have  had  the  smiles  of 
any  of  the  maid-servants  of  Bullcott  Hall,  but  he 
would  never  accept  amatory  favors  from  low  sources 
as  a  supposed  equal,  though  he  might  willingly 
enough,  in  his  own  proper  character  of  gentleman, 
condescend  on  occasion  to  kiss  a  handsome  wench. 

One  sweet,  blossomy  day  in  April,  while  following 
the  course  of  a  little  rivulet,  Dick  emerged  from  the 
woods  to  a  field  at  whose  farther  end  was  a  barn, 
before  which  stood  a  large  wagon  whence  a  party  of 
strolling  players  were  moving  their  accessories  into 
the  building,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  a  series  of 
performances  there.  By  the  brookside,  at  a  place 
hidden  from  her  fellow  Thespians  by  some  bushes, 
knelt  one  of  the  women  of  the  company,  a  rather 
pretty  girl,  washing  clothes.  Standing  near  this 
girl,  with  his  back  towards  Dick,  was  a  man  who 
seemed,  from  his  attitude  and  gestures,  to  be  press 
ing  on  her  some  sort  of  invitation,  which  she  appar 
ently  chose  to  ignore.  This  man  presently  stooped 
by  her  side,  and  made  to  put  his  arms  around  her, 
whereupon  she  gave  him  a  vigorous  slap  in  the  face 
with  the  wet  undergarment  she  then  held. 

The  man  persisting  in  his  attempt  to  embrace  her, 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  2?  I 

and  the  girl  resisting  without  fear  but  with  repug 
nance,  Dick  ran  forward,  cuffed  the  man  on  the  side 
of  the  head,  and  announced  the  intention  of  throwing 
him  into  the  brook  if  he  did  not  immediately  let  go 
the  lady.  The  man  let  go,  but  only  in  order  to 
spring  to  his  feet  and  turn,  with  clenched  fists,  upon 
Dick,  disclosing  to  the  latter  the  furious  face  of 
Squire  Bullcott. 

The  Squire,  whose  wrath  instantly  doubled  upon 
his  seeing  that  his  interfering  assailant  was  his  own 
under  gamekeeper,  could  only  roar,  sputter,  and 
whine,  incoherently,  and  look  as  if  about  to  explode. 
He  was  deterred  from  instantly  laying  hands  on 
Dick  by  the  attitude  of  defence  into  which  the  latter 
had  promptly  thrown  himself.  When  Mr.  Bullcott 
had  used  up  his  breath  in  calling  Dick  vile  names, 
and  threatening  him  with  everything  from  a  cudgel 
to  a  gibbet,  Dick  explained  that  he  could  not  stand 
by  and  see  any  man  force  his  caresses  on  a  lady 
against  her  will. 

"  Lady  !  "  bellowed  the  Squire.  "  Why,  she's  a 

miserable of  a  vagabond  play-actress  !  Why, 

you  fool,  I'll  warrant  she  can't  begin  to  count  the 
men  who  have  had  her  !  " 

"  I  don't  stand  up  for  the  woman's  virtue,"  said 
Dick.  "  I  know  nothing  about  that."  He  perceived 
that  a  man  who  would  ever  testify  with  due  effect  to 
the  virtue  of  a  good  woman,  must  not  assert,  by  oath 


2/2  THE   ROAD    TO    PARIS. 

or  blows,  a  belief  in  that  of  a  bad  or  doubtful  woman. 
"  But  every  woman  has  the  right  to  say  who  sha'n't 
have  her  favors,"  he  went  on,  "and  that  girl  was 
resolved  you  shouldn't  have  -hers  !  " 

"  Well,  by  God,  we'll  see !  I'll  have  the  whole 
rabble  locked  up,  I  will !  They  shan't  give  any  of 
their  nasty  plays  where  I  have  jurisdiction !  I'll 
drive  them  off,  and  you,  too !  No,  I  won't,  I'll  have 
you  up  at  the  assizes.  I'll  see  you  hanged  for  mur 
derous  assault ;  that  I  will !  " 

With  which,  the  girl  having  already  fled  to  her 
comrades,  and  voices  being  heard  to  approach,  the 
worthy  magistrate  plunged  into  cover  of  the  woods 
in  one  direction,  white  Dick  sought  similar  conceal 
ment  in  another. 

Knowing  that  time  had  come  to  resume  his  travels, 
Dick  hastened  to  his  lodge,  and  there,  the  better  to 
avoid  arrest  on  the  Squire's  order,  he  put  on  the 
fine  suit  given  him  by  the  strange  gentleman  at 
Taunton.  With  all  his  other  clothes  in  his  bag,  he 
then  started  for  the  road.  As  he  was  passing  through 
the  woods,  he  first  heard  and  then  saw  Mr.  Perkins 
leading  towards  the  abandoned  lodge  a  pair  of  ugly 
fellows  armed  with  bludgeons.  Unseen  by  this 
party,  Dick  made  a  detour  that  led  him  eventually  to 
the  road,  but  to  a  part  thereof  that  necessitated  his 
passing  the  great  gate  of  the  Hall  in  order  to  con 
tinue  his  journey  northward. 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  273 

As  he  was  musing  on  the  peculiar  appearance  he 
must  make  in  the  road,  that  of  a  gaily  dressed  gen 
tleman  travelling  afoot  and  carrying  a  bag,  he  saw 
Squire  Bullcot't  come  forth  on  horseback,  attended 
by  two  stalwart,  raw-looking  servants.  The  Squire 
stared  at  him,  in  bewilderment,  a  moment,  then 
cried  out  to  his  servants  : 

"  Tis  the  very  same  !  The  same  damned  rogue  ! 
I  know  the  rascal  in  spite  of  his  clothes  !  Stop  him, 
Curry,  and  hold  him  fast !  Down  off  your  horses, 
both  of  you,  or  he'll  get  safe  away  !  " 

"I  dare  you  to  stop  me  now !  "  cried  Dick,  going 
straight  up  to  Bullcott  and  looking  him  in  the  face. 
"  I'm  a  gentleman,  and  one  of  your  betters,  though 
I  did  amuse  myself  by  playing  gamekeeper  to  an 
ignorant  brute !  " 

The  Squire  glared  for  a  -moment  in  speechless 
fury,  and  then,  gathering  breath  and  saliva,  spat 
with  great  force  in  Dick's  face. 

The  two  servants  were  now  dismounted.  Mr. 
Bullcott,  enraged  to  the  point  of  preferring  immediate 
revenge  rather  than  the  slow  operation  of  the  law, 
ordered  them  to  use  their  whips  on  Dick.  They  fell 
upon  him  together,  at  the  moment  when  he  was 
blinded  by  the  handkerchief  with  which  he  had 
instantly  begun  to  cleanse  his  visage  of  Bullcott's 
disgusting  marks. 

Maddened  by  the  blows  that  rained  upon  his  face, 


274  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

neck,  arms,  and  wrists,  Dick  struck  out1  wildly  at  his 
brawny  assailants.  At  a  certain  violent  rush  on  his 
part,  they  fell  back.  The  Squire  seized  that  moment 
as  an  opportune  one  for  riding  his  horse  at  Dick,  and 
the  latter,  leaping  aside  to  avoid  the  heavy  hoofs, 
tripped  on  a  stone  and  fell  flat  in  the  road,  knocking 
the  breath  out  of  his  body. 

Bullcott  now,  leaning  from  his  horse,  wielded 
his  own  whip  on  Dick's  head  and  back,  accom 
panying  the  castigation  with  vengeful  oaths  and 
vile  epithets.  Then,  ordering  his  men  to  bestow 
each  a  final  kick  on  the  prostrate  body,  the  worthy 
gentleman  rode  off  about  his  business,  which,  it 
eventually  appeared,  was  to  cause  the  ejection  of 
the  strolling  players  from  the  barn  before  which 
their  merry-andrew  had  already  begun  to  collect  a 
crowd  around  his  wagon. 

Kicked  into  insensibility,  Dick  was  at  last  aban 
doned  by  the  two  servants,  and  he  lay  in  the  road 
until,  fifteen  minutes  later,  there  came  up  from  the 
direction  of  Wells  a  post-chaise,  from  which  a  hearty- 
looking  young  gentleman,  having  ordered  the  postil 
ion  to  stop,  got  out  for  the  sole  purpose  of  examining 
the  prostrate  body  in  the  way.  He  stooped  beside 
Dick,  called  his  valet  to  bring  some  brandy,  and 
gently  raised  Dick's  head. 

"Who  is  it  ?  "  murmured  Dick,  summoned  out  of 
a  wild  and  painful  dream,  and  resting  his  blue  eyes 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  2/5 

on  the  rubicund,  cheerful,  somewhat  impudent  face 
of  the  young  gentleman. 

"  Who  is  it  ? "  repeated  the  latter,  blithely. 
"  That's  a  good  one  !  Here's  a  gentleman  who  has 
fallen  among  thieves  and  been  left  half  dead,  and  the 
first  thing  he  wants  of  the  Good  Samaritan  is  to 
know  who  the  Good  Samaritan  is !  Swallow  this 
brandy,  sir,  and  the  Good  Samaritan  will  introduce 
himself." 

"  You  are  certainly  the  Good  Samaritan,"  moaned 
Dick,  after  a  reviving  gulp  from  the  flask  held  by 
the  valet ;  "  but  I  haven't  fallen  among  thieves.  I 
fell  in  only  with  the  most  damned  boorish  scoundrel 
that  ever  disgraced  the  name  of  gentleman,  and  I 
swear  I  won't  rest  till  I've  paid  him  back  what  he 
and  his  rascal  menials  did  me  here,  blow  for  blow, 
and  kick  for  kick." 

"  Quite  right !  "  said  the  other,  gaily.  "  But,  in  the 
meantime,  what  is  to  be  done  for  you  ?  Can  I  take 
you  to  your  house  ?  Do  you  live  hereabouts  ?  " 

"  No,  my  home  is  • —  quite  —  far  —  away,"  replied 
Dick,  relapsing  into  a  dreamy  condition. 

The  other  gently  shook  him  back  to  full  conscious 
ness.  "  Then  where  may  I  take  you  ?  Whither  were 
you  bound  ?  Towards  Bath  ?  " 

"  Yes,  towards  Bath,"  said  Dick,  on  a  moment's 
impulse. 

"Well,  by  George,  that's  fortunate!    You  shall  be 


2/6  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

my  travelling  companion  the  rest  of  the  way.  You 
don't  seem  to  have  your  own  coach  at  hand,  or  any 
of  your  servants." 

"  You  are  right.  I  have  no  coach  at  hand  —  or 
any  servants.  I  have  only  the  bag  in  the  ditch 
yonder.  You  are  very  kind !  I  don't  like  to 
intrude." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  sir !  'Tis  I  who  have  in 
truded  on  your  slumbers  here.  You'll  be  company 
for  me  on  the  journey.  'Fore  gad,  I  was  dead  of 
ennui,  for  some  one  to  talk  to,  when  we  came  upon 
you !  Get  the  gentleman's  bag,  Wilkins.  I  must 
say,  sir,  your  own  servant  must  be  a  rascal,  to  have 
dropped  your  things  and  ridden  off  as  he  did,  when 
you  were  attacked." 

Dick  saw  no  reason  to  correct  the  impression  pro 
duced,  by  his  clothes  and  other  circumstances,  on  the 
cordial  young  gentleman,  and  he  silently  let  himself 
be  helped  into  the  chaise,  which,  his  bag  having  been 
stowed  away  and  his  rescuers  having  got  in,  at  once 
started  off  towards  Bath. 

Dick  gave  no  more  account  of  himself,  beyond 
announcing  his  name  and  the  fact  that  he  had 
recently  come  from  travels  abroad,  than  to  say  that 
he  had  been  attacked  by  the  servants  of  a  gentleman 
whose  motive  was  personal  revenge,  and  left  as  the 
Good  Samaritan  had  found  him.  The  Good  Samari 
tan  turned  out  to  be  Lord  George  Winston,  who  was 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  2JJ 

given  to  letting  his  private  coaches  and  horses  lie 
idle,  and  to  travelling  in  his  present  modest  fashion, 
in  order  that  he  might  encounter  the  more  amusing 
people  and  incidents.  He  was  now  hastening,  in 
quest  of  society,  back  from  his  Devonshire  estate, 
whither  he  had  recently  hastened  in  quest  of  solitude. 
He  was  an  exceedingly  good-natured,  self-satisfied, 
talkative  youth,  one  of  those  happily  constituted  per 
sons  who  are  not  even  their  own  enemies.  Yet  he  was 
a  man  of  exceeding  animation  and  wit,  as  he  showed 
by  countless  little  jests  with  which  he  enlivened  the 
talk  he  rattled  off  to  Dick  on  the  journey. 

Dick  allowed  most  of  the  conversation  to  his 
lordship,  which  circumstance  made  so  agreeable  an 
impression  on  the  latter,  that,  on  learning  Dick  had 
no  engagements,  he  gave  an  imperative  invitation  to 
be  his  guest  in  Bath  for  a  few  days,  and  afterward  to 
bear  him  company  to  London.  Dick,  philosophically 
accepting,  thus  saw  his  immediate  future  paved  with 
roses  in  advance,  ere  the  increasing  bustle  of  con 
verging  roads,  the  sound  of  the  Avon  flowing  beneath 
its  bridge,  and  the  sight  of  many  roofs  and  towers 
told  him  he  was  entering  the  most  populous  and 
fashionable  pleasure  resort  in  England. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  they  drove  into 
Bath.  The  chaise  rattled  through  the  fine  streets  of 
splendid  stone  houses,  its  own  noise  mingling  with 
that  of  grand  coaches  and  other  conveyances.  On 


2/8  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

every  side  were  finely  dressed  people,  strutting  with 
an  air  of  consequence,  while  Dick  got  a  glimpse  of 
a  fair  face,  more  or  less  genuine  in  color,  in  many  a 
carriage  and  chair.  The  chaise  let  out  its  passengers 
at  the  Three  Tuns,  where  Lord  George  engaged 
rooms  for  the  night,  and  where  Dick  carefully  re 
paired  all  damage  to  his  person  and  attire,  donned 
fresh  linen,  had  his  hair  powdered  by  a  man  whom 
Lord  George  had  caused  to  be  summoned,  dined  with 
his  gay  companion,  and  sauntered  forth  afoot  with 
him  at  evening,  glowing  with  the  newly  stimulated 
love  of  pleasure. 

At  the  door  of  the  Pelican  Inn,  Lord  George 
introduced  Dick  to  a  pompous  but  good-natured 
little  gentleman  named  Boswell,  who  greeted  my 
lord  obsequiously  but  tarried  only  so  long  as  to 
mention  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  meet  Doctor 
Johnson  at  the  house  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale. 

"  Does  he  mean  the  great  Doctor  Johnson,  the 
author?"  asked  Dick,  looking  back  after  him  with 
curiosity. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lord  George ;  "  he  is  a  harmless, 
conceited  Scotchman  that  comes  to  town  a  few 
weeks  every  year  and  follows  at  the  heels  of  John 
son,  who  treats  him  as  if  he  were  the  spaniel  he  is. 
'Tis  amusing  to  consort  now  and  then  with  those 
writing  fellows,  if  you  can  endure  their  vanity.  As 
for  Johnson,  he  says  a  good  thing  sometimes,  and 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  2/9 

might  be  good  company  but  for  his  sweating  and 
grunting,  his  dirty  linen  and  his  beastly  way  of  eat 
ing,  and  his  desire  of  doing  all  the  talking  himself." 

They  went  to  the  Assembly  Rooms,  where  his 
lordship  introduced  Dick  to  numerous  people  of 
both  sexes  and  then  sat  down  to  cards ;  while  Dick 
looked  on,  or  walked  about  among  the  promenaders, 
the  gay  talkers,  and  the  chatting  tea-drinkers,  and 
thought  he  was  in  a  kind  of  paradise. 

The  next  day  Lord  George  moved  with  his  guest 
to  a  floor  in  a  fine  house  on  the  South  Parade,  where 
there  was  comparative  quiet  from  the  noise  of  wheels. 
There  established,  Dick,  as  he  listened  to  the  bells 
of  the  Abbey  church,  —  which  sound  carried  to  him 
a  mental  vision  of  the  venerable  Cathedral  itself,  with 
its  fine  western  front  and  its  countless  windows,  — 
resolved  that  he  would  ever  after  wear  the  clothes 
of  a  gentleman,  as  his  birth  and  mind  entitled  him 
to  do ;  that  his  future  way  should  lie  amidst  fine 
surroundings  ;  that  he  should  thereafter  contrive  to 
sip  only  of  the  honey  of  this  world. 

The  two  young  gentlemen  went  early  to  the 
pump-room ;  took  the  hot  water  bath  in  a  great 
tank  overlooked  by  the  pump-room  windows,  in 
company  with  other  perspiring  folk,  who  did  not 
look  at  their  best,  —  particularly  the  ladies  in  their 
brown  linen  jackets  and  petticoats  and  their  chip 
hats  with  handkerchiefs  affixed.  Then,  having 


28b  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

dressed  and  partaken  of  the  water  served  by  the 
pumper  in  the  bar,  Lord  George  and  Dick  —  or 
rather  Mr.  Wetheral,  for  he  had  now  determined 
to  complete  the  transformation  that  his  change  of 
clothes  had  begun  —  strolled  on  the  North  Parade ; 
after  which  his  lordship  played  a  game  of  billiards 
with  an  acquaintance  he  met,  while  Dick  stole  away 
in  quest  of  a  certain  kind  of  shop.  This  excursion 
was  fruitful,  and  when  Mr.  Wetheral  rejoined  his 
friend  at  the  Coffee  House  his  shoes  had  silver 
buckles  instead  of  gold  ones,  and  a  small  quantity 
of  coin  rattled  in  his  previously  silent  pocket.  For 
Dick,  having  watched  the  cards  awhile  on  the  pre 
ceding  night,  had  made  up  his  mind  to  try  a  fling  at 
fortune,  himself. 

Accordingly,  when  they  went  to  the  Rooms  that 
night,  it  was  Mr.  Wetheral  that  played,  and  Lord 
George  that  sought  diversion  otherwise,  joining  the 
dancers,  for  this  was  one  of  the  two  weekly  ball- 
nights.  Wetheral  had  beginner's  luck,  of  course, 
and  when  he  retired  to  bed  at  twelve  his  pockets 
jingled  with  an  effect  almost  as  pleasant  to  his  ears 
as  that  of  the  Abbey  bells,  and  he  saw  himself 
prospectively  the  possessor  of  some  splendid  house 
in  the  Circus  or  in  Prince's  Row. 

He  imagined,  of  course,  a  lovely  sharer  of  the 
contemplated  splendor,  but  this  fancy  did  not  take 
a  permanent  shape  in  his  mind's  eye ;  sometimes  it 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  28 1 

wore  the  face  of  Catherine  de  St.  Valier ;  then  this 
image  gave  way  to  a  kind  of  collective  impression  of 
the  many  pretty  faces  he  had  already  seen  in  Bath. 
For  so  great  a  change  had  come  in  his  surroundings 
and  desires,  that  Catherine  and  her  snowy  Quebec 
had  faded  into  a  far  past  and  seemed  at  an  im 
measurable  distance.  Reproach  him  not  too  severely ! 
He  was  nineteen,  in  England,  in  spring,  as  if  freshly 
born  into  a  new  world  that  appeared  all  pleasure  and 
beauty ;  moreover,  the  past  five  months  had  been  so 
crowded  with  events  and  changes  that  they  trailed 
out  behind  him  like  years  instead  of  months. 

His  luck  at  cards  continuing,  and  with  it  his  de 
termination  to  move  thereafter  in  polite  life,  Mr. 
Wetheral  set  about  acquiring  certain  accomplish 
ments  necessary  to  his  purpose.  There  was  a  fop 
among  Lord  George's  acquaintance,  given  to  telling 
laughable  stories,  partly  in  French.  Of  this  gentle 
man's  Coffee  House  audience,  Dick  was  the  only  one 
who  could  not  laugh  uproariously  at  these  Gallic 
passages.  He  thereupon  resolved  to  learn  French, 
as  well  as  to  acquire  the  more  fashionable  styles  of 
dancing,  and  to  improve  what  rudiments  of  fencing 
had  been  imparted  to  him  by  old  Tom  MacAlister. 
Thus  he  invested  a  good  part  of  his  nightly  winnings 
in  clandestine  lessons,  taken  while  Lord  George  was 
making  visits,  or  off  with  some  pleasure-seeking 
party  to  Spring  Gardens, 'or  elsewhere  engaged. 


282  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Wetheral  supplemented  his  French  and  fencing 
lessons  with  private  practice  in  his  rooms,  or  in  some 
solitary  part  of  the  grove  by  the  Avon,  or  of  King's 
Mead  Fields,  or  elsewhere.  His  natural  readiness 
and  his  fierce  application  soon  enabled  him  to  read 
and  write  easy  French  passably  well ;  but  when  he 
came  to  speak  in  that  language  to  the  foppish  little 
master  of  ceremonies  at  the  Rooms,  he  brought  con 
fusion  on  himself.  He  made  a  better  show  at  danc 
ing,  though ;  and  a  few  trials  of  the  foils  with  Lord 
George,  on  a  rainy  day,  displayed  a  promise  of  early 
ability  to  handle  a  sword  in  the  approved  fashion. 

One  evening  in  the  second  week  of  May,  Lord 
George  announced  his  wish  of  starting  for  London 
on  the  morrow,  as  the  fashionable  season  at  Bath 
would  soon  be  over.  Dick  had  no  sorrow  at  this,  for 
he  had  resolved  to  continue  in  London  his  present 
way  of  life,  by  means  of  the  cards  and  by  whatever 
other  resources  he  might  find  at  hand.  He  was 
quite  ready  for  fresh  fields,  as  long  as  they  were  of 
the  flowery  kind.  Desiring,  though,  a  last  survey 
of  the  field  he  was  about  to  leave,  Dick  sallied  forth 
alone  that  night  for  the  Rooms,  Lord  George  having 
to  remain  at  his  lodgings  to  write  some  letters  he 
had  postponed  to  the  last  moment. 

Just  as  Mr.  Wetheral  was  entering  the  ballroom, 
during  a  cessation  of  dancing,  and  was  felicitating 
himself  on  the  flattering  salutations  he  got  from 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  283 

acquaintances  obtained  through  Lord  George, — and 
several  of  these  greetings  came  with  melting  smiles 
from  fair  faces, — he  heard  a  voice  at  his  side  cry  out : 

"Why,  by  God,  'tis  the  rascal  gamekeeper  mas 
querading  as  a  gentleman  !  " 

Dick  recognized  the  voice,  now  bellow  and  now 
whimper,  ere  even  he  turned,  like  a  man  shot,  and 
saw  the  face.  At  sight  of  the  gross,  insolent  visage 
of  Squire  Bullcott,  the  memory  of  the  horse-whipping 
drove  away  every  other  consideration,  and  Dick, 
thinking  only  of  revenge,  not  of  his  own  possible 
discomfiture,  replied,  hotly : 

"  So  'tis  you,  Bully  Bullcott !  I  intended  to  return 
and  pay  off  my  score,  but  kind  Providence  has  saved 
me  the  trouble  by  sending  you  to  Bath.  Wait  until 
I  meet  you  in  the  street,  sir ! " 

"What,  you  dog!  "  cried  the  Squire,  whose  corpu 
lent  body  was  dressed  as  if  it  were  the  elegant  figure 
of  a  beau  of  twenty-five.  "  Why,  hear  the  cur  talk, 
will  you  that !  The  low,  dirty,  mongrel  cur,  that 
came  starving  along  the  road,  with  tongue  hanging 
out  and  ne'er  a  kennel  to  sleep  in  ;  and  that  I  took 
in  and  made  a  gamekeeper  of !  How  in  the  name  of 
God  he  ever  came  by  those  clothes  he  has  on,  I  know 
not.  But  you  sha'n't  play  any  of  your  tricks  here, 
you  impostor !  I  denounce  this  rascal,  gentlemen  ! 
He's  not  what  he  pretends  to  be  !  " 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Dick,  to  the  crowd  that  had 


284  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

quickly  assembled,  "  there  are  many  of  you  here  who 
know  me —  " 

"If  there  be,"  said  Bullcott,  cutting  Dick's  speech 
short,  "  how  long  have  you  known  him  ?  Hey  ?  And 
is  there  any  gentleman  here  that  doesn't  know  me  ?  " 
From  the  manner  in  which  the  Squire  glared  around, 
and  that  of  the  gentlemen  who  amiably  nodded  in 
confirmation,  it  was  plain  that  Squire  Bullcott  was 
a  very  well-known  person  at  Bath ;  and  from  other 
tokens  it  was  equally  plain  that  Dick's  acquaintances 
were  mentally  recalling  that  the  time  since  they  had 
first  met  him  was  indeed  short.  "The  fellow  is  a 
gamekeeper,  I  say !  A  common  servant,  that  I  paid 
wages  to,  a  month  ago,  and  that  my  footmen  drove 
off  my  place,  as  they  shall  drive  him  out  of  these 
Rooms  now ! "  Whereat  he  strode  through  the 
crowd,  which  opened  for  him  with  the  deference 
due  to  wealthHand  at  the  door  he  called  out  to  his 
servants,  who  were  waiting  with  his  coach. 

Before  Mr.  Wetheral,  who  looked  in  perplexity 
from  one  acquaintance  to  another,  and  saw  each  man 
fall  slightly  back  or  look  aside,  could  arrive  at  any 
course  of  action,  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
the  two  low-browed  fellows  who  had  obeyed  the 
Squire's  behest  on  a  former  memorable  occasion. 
Ere  he  was  fully  sensible  of  their  intention,  he  was 
grasped  at  neck  and  arm,  and  the  next  instant 
he  was  being  hustled  swiftly  to  the  street.  Resist- 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  285 

ing  blindly,  and  as  the  nether  part  of  his  person 
came  considerably  in  the  rear  in  this  rapid  exit,  he 
made  a  ludicrous  appearance,  as  he  knew  from  the 
shout  of  laughter  that  followed  him,  —  laughter  in 
which,  to  his  unutterable  chagrin,  the  voices  of  the 
ladies  mingled,  for  they  had  pushed  forward  among 
the  gentlemen  who  had  first  hastened  to  the  scene. 

Once  outside,  Dick's  two  burly  captors  flung  him 
forward  into  the  street,  where  he  landed  on  all  fours 
in  mire  and  refuse. 

A  crowd  of  servants  and  rabble  quickly  gathered 
around,  shouting  with  glee.  Dick's  mood,  when  he 
rose,  bruised  and  soiled,  was  to  return  and  do  battle 
with  the  whole  assembly  in  the  Rooms.  But  he 
knew  the  futility  of  such  heroic  measures,  and  that 
the  present  was  no  time  in  which  to  seek  retaliation. 
He  contented  himself,  therefore,  with  what  effective 
lunges  were  necessary  in  order  to  break  through  the 
street  crowd.  Having  achieved  a  passage  in  one 
fierce  dash,  he  ran  on,  at  a  pace  that  soon  ended 
pursuit,  until  he  reached  his  lodgings.  There  he 
made  himself  presentable  before  joining  Lord 
George,  to  whom  he  said  nothing  of  the  night's 
occurrence. 

Their  early  departure,  the  next  morning,  alone 
prevented  his  lordship  from  hearing  the  news  that 
was  now  all  over  Bath ;  and  Dick  felt  a  decided 
relief  when  he  saw  the  city  receding  in  the  morning 


286  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

sunshine  while  the  post-chaise  they  had  taken  was 
bowling  merrily  towards  Wiltshire.  An  uneventful 
day,  diversified  by  many  stops  for  refreshment, 
brought  them  late  in  the  afternoon  to  Marlboro, 
where  Dick  had  time,  before  nightfall,  to  ascend 
by  the  winding  path  the  famous  mount,  and  to 
meditate  in  the  grotto  where  Thomson  had  com 
posed  "The  Seasons,"  as  well  as  to  stroll  through 
the  charming  grounds  stretching  at  the  rear  of  the 
inn  to  the  Kennet. 

As  the  Bath  stage-coach  for  London  drove  up, 
Dick  looked  furtively  from  the  inn  window  to  see 
if  it  should  let  out  any  of  those  who  had  witnessed 
his  humiliation  the  previous  night.  Lord  George, 
glancing  from  the  same  window,  suddenly  exclaimed, 
"  Egad,  there's  a  fine  woman  !  " 

Following  his  lordship's  gaze,  Dick  beheld  a  slen 
der  and  graceful  lady  emerging  from  a  private  coach. 
Her  face,  round,  soft,  childlike,  with  clear  and  gentle 
blue  eyes,  instantly  captivated  Dick.  He  watched 
her  while  she  gave  hasty  directions  to  her  coachman, 
and  while  she  stepped  quickly  and  with  downcast 
look,  as  if  wishing  to  avoid  observation,  to  the  inn. 
She  was  accompanied  by  another  lady,  also  quite 
handsome,  but  of  a  somewhat  severe  and  defiant 
countenance. 

Having  entered  the  inn,  the  two  ladies  were  seen 
no  more  while  Dick  and  Lord  George  remained  at 


THREE    WHIMSICAL    GENTLEMEN.  287 

Marlboro,  although  these  candid  admirers  of  beauty 
delayed  their  departure  thence  till  the  next  day  was 
far  advanced.  With  sighs  of  disappointment,  they 
then  resumed  their  journey,  and  passed  through  the 
forest  and  on  to  Hungerford,  where  they  dined  and 
tarried  awhile  in  the  vain  hope  that  yet  the  lady  of 
the  private  coach  might  overtake  them. 

Continuing  in  disappointment,  they  proceeded  into 
Berkshire  and  along  the  pleasant  Kennet  to  Speen- 
hamland,  which,  as  all  the  world  knows,  is  but  the 
northern  part  of  Newbury,  the  Kennet  flowing  be 
tween  under  a  stone  bridge.  They  had  no  sooner 
made  themselves  comfortable  in  the  last  two  avail 
able  rooms  at  the  Pelican  Inn,  than  Wetheral  hap 
pened  to  look  out  into  the  corridor  and  see,  accidentally 
glancing  from  the  opposite  chamber  at  the  same 
moment,  the  beautiful  lady  of  the  private  coach. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  DEVIL  TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN. 

THE  lady,  on  seeing  herself  observed,  immediately 
disappeared,  and  closed  her  door.  Dick  imparted 
his  discovery  to  Lord  George,  who  thereupon  sent 
his  man  Wilkins  to  inquire  of  the  servants  who  the 
lady  was.  Wilkins  returned  with  the  information, 
obtained  from  an  inn  maid  who  had  quizzed  the 
lady's  own  man-servant,  that  the  lady  was  Miss 
Englefield,  Sir  Hilary  Englefield's  sister,  returning 
to  her  brother's  seat  near  Reading,  to  escape  the 
attentions  of  a  very  wealthy  gentleman  who  had 
pursued  her  at  Bath. 

"  Why,  I  know  Sir  Hilary,"  cried  Lord  George. 
"Wilkins,  you  will  take  this  message  to  Miss  Engle 
field  at  once.  Say  to  her  that  I  have  learned  she  is 
here,  and  that,  supposing  she  must  have  heard  her 
brother  speak  of  me,  though  I  have  never  had  the 
honor  and  pleasure  of  meeting  her,  I  send  my  most 
respectful  compliments  and  will  do  myself  the  happi 
ness  of  waiting  upon  her  in  the  public  parlor.  Make 
haste,  Wilkins  !  Come,  Wetheral,  —  damn  it,  your 

288 


THE  DEVIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.    289 

hair  is  all  right !  We  shall  probably  have  the  joy  of 
supping  with  these  ladies." 

Dick  hastened  down  to  the  parlor  with  his  lordship 
and  waited  in  a  very  pleasant  trepidation.  Wilkins 
soon  came  with  the  answer  that  Miss  Englefield 
would  give  herself  the  honor,  etc.  "  She  seemed  at 
first  quite  took  by  surprise,  my  lord,"  added  Wilkins, 
"  and  repeated  the  name  Englefield  after  me,  as  if  to 
make  me  think  there  was  a  mistake  and  she  wasn't 
that  lady.  But  she  whispered  awhile  with  the  other 
lady,  and  then  gave  me  the  answer." 

"  If  she  is  really  running  away  from  some  obnox 
ious  suitor,  she  would  quite  naturally  wish  to  hide 
her  name,"  commented  Lord  George  to  Dick ;  and 
then  a  rustle  of  skirts  heralded  the  entrance  of  the 
lady  and  her  companion  themselves. 

While  introductions  were  being  made,  the  four 
people  became  so  grouped  that  Wetheral  found  him 
self  near  Miss  Englefield,  an  advantage  he  was  quite 
ready  to  keep  when  it  had  come  through  circum 
stance,  although  he  would  not  with  premeditation 
have  competed  for  it  with  Lord  George.  His  lord 
ship,  noting  the  circumstance  with  a  smile  partly  of 
reproach  and  partly  of  resignation,  accepted  with 
good  grace  the  place  of  partner  to  the  other  lady, 
Miss  Thorpe,  whom  Miss  Englefield  addressed  as 
Celestine.  Thus  coupled,  the  new  acquaintances 
talked  of  the  crowded  state  of  the  inns,  the  excel- 


290  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

lence  of  the  weather  and  roads,  the  season  at  Bath 
(Dick  learned  with  ineffable  relief  that  Miss  Engle- 
field's  departure  had  occurred  before  his  ejection 
from  the  Rooms),  and  such  matters. 

It  was  agreed  presently,  on  Lord  George's  pro 
posal,  that  the  four  should  sup  together  in  a  corner 
of  their  own  in  the  dining-room  ;  and  Dick  there 
contrived  to  retain  his  post  as  cavalier  to  Miss 
Englefield,  with  whom  he  became  more  entranced  at 
every  commonplace  utterance  from  her  dainty  lips, 
every  meaningless  glance  from  her  soft  eyes,  every 
change  of  expression  of  her  girlish  face,  every  in 
significant  sigh,  every  occasionless  laugh. 

Her  manner  was  generally  that  of  a  woman  under 
some  kind  of  anxiety  or  suspense,  from  which  she 
found  relief  in  a  half  timid,  half  reckless  abandon 
ment  to  gaiety ;  she  was  like  a  schoolgirl  on  some 
feminine  lark,  entirely  novel  to  her,  to  which  some 
severity  had  driven  her  for  relief,  yet  of  which  she 
was  constantly  in  terror. 

In  the  parlor,  after  supper,  Wetheral's  supposed 
travels  being  mentioned,  he  led  up  to  the  highly 
original  remark,  spoken  with  a  most  meaning  look, 
"But  of  all  women,  I'll  swear  the  finest  I  have  seen 
are  in  England,  —  nay,  I  must  say,  is  in  England  !  " 
The  charming  blush  with  which  she  received  this 
extremely  subtle  compliment  encouraged  Dick  to 
further  efforts  in  the  same  strain,  for  the  conversa- 


THE  DE VIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.    29 1 

tion  of  the  two  had  now  fallen  to  a  tone  inaudible  to 
Lord  George  and  Miss  Thorpe.  These,  on  their 
side,  sat  at  some  distance,  deep  in  a  masked  contest 
arising  from  the  haughty  Celestine's  declared  invul 
nerability  to  any  man's  attack,  and  from  Lord 
George's  complacent  conviction  that  he  could  make 
a  swift  conquest  of  any  woman  without  even  seriously 
exerting  himself. 

This  game,  between  the  irresistible  and  the  im 
movable,  enabled  Wetheral  and  Miss  Englefield  to 
proceed  unwatched  through  a  flirtation's  first  stages, 
so  delicious  to  the  participants,  so  insipid  to  third 
persons.  Silly  as  their  talk  was,  it  derived  unutter 
able  charm  from  the  low  tones  in  which  it  was 
spoken,  the  ardent  looks  and  suppressed  agitation  of 
Dick,  the  furtive  glances  and  demure  blushes  of 
Miss  Englefield.  At  last  the  silence  of  the  inn,  and 
the  shortened  state  of  the  candles,  broke  up  the 
reluctant  quartette,  and  the  ladies  said  good  night, 
leaving  Dick  on  the  outer  threshold  of  his  paradise, 
and  Lord  George  at  the  first  manoeuvre  in  his 
campaign  against  the  composure  of  Celestine. 

"  By  the  lord,"  cried  Wetheral  in  ecstasy,  when  he 
and  Lord  George  were  alone  together,  "did  you  ever 
see  a  more  heavenly  creature  ?  She's  divine,  she's 
perfect,  and  her  name  is  Amabel,  as  lovely  as  her 
self  !  She  told  me  it,  and  she  told  me,  too,  almost  in 
as  many  words,  that  her  affections  were  not  engaged 


THE   KOA1)    TO   PARIS. 

—  previously.  Amabel !  Could  any  name  fit  any 
woman  better  ? " 

"Come,  come,"  said  Lord  George,  "it's  bedtime. 
I  must  sleep  well  to-night,  and  look  my  best  to 
morrow,  for  I've  a  conquest  to  make." 

"'Fore  gad,  I  sha'n't  sleep  at  all!"  cried  Dick. 
"  I've  been  made  a  conquest  of !  " 

But  he  followed  his  friend  up-stairs,  where  he  found 
the  latter  slightly  meditative  and  absent,  a  circum 
stance  that  would  have  held  his  attention  had  not  his 
mind  been  full  of  other  thoughts.  Dick  looked  out 
of  the  window,  at  the  inn  garden.  It  was  a  perfect 
night,  with  a  glorious  moonlight.  Dick  could  never 
go  to  bed  in  his  present  mood.  He  longed  to  walk, 
to  revel  in  the  moonlight,  which  was  all  his  own,  now 
that  the  rest  of  the  world  was  asleep.  If  he  could 
but  pace  beneath  her  window !  That  window  also, 
being  in  line  with  his  own,  looked  out  on  the  garden. 
Between  the  two  windows  was  that  of  the  corridor, 
and  beneath  this  there  was  a  rear  door  leading  to  the 
garden,  which  door  was  flanked  by  a  vine-clad  trellis. 

"I'm  going  for  a  stroll  in  the  garden,"  said  Dick, 
suddenly,  to  Lord  George,  who  was  already  in  bed. 
"  I  sha'n't  want  a  candle  to  go  to  bed  by." 

He  thereupon  stepped  from  his  window  to  the  trellis, 
and  descended  thereby  to  the  ground,  heedless  of  the 
impeding  vines.  Amabel's  window  was  already  dark, 
as  his  own  became  a  moment  later.  The  garden 


THE  DEVIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.    293 

sloped  gently,  between  a  wall  and  a  hedge,  to  the 
Kennet,  which  reflected  the  moon  between  shadows 
of  over-arching  boughs.  With  its  small  trees,  its 
bushes  and  flowers,  its  solitary  bench,  and  its  clear 
spaces  of  short  grass,  all  made  beautiful  and  myste 
rious  by  the  moonlight,  its  spring  odors,  and  the 
murmur  of  the  stream,  the  place  seemed  to  Dick  like 
some  Italian  garden,  and  he  imagined  himself  Romeo 
gazing  up  at  Juliet's  balcony. 

In  the  midst  of  this  fancy,  he  was  rudely  brought 
back  to  England  by  the  sound  of  wheels  and  horse, 
and  of  voices  speaking  guardedly  in  very  un-Italian 
accents,  in  the  inn  coach-yard  beyond  the  wall  that 
bounded  one  side  of  the  garden.  The  sounds  came 
to  a  stop,  and  the  gate  of  the  wall  opened  cautiously, 
whereupon  Dick  stepped  into  the  shadow  of  the  trel 
lis  flanking  the  rear  doorway.  Through  the  gate 
way  he  could  see  a  rickety  coach,  of  which  the  door 
was  open  and  from  about  which  there  now  stepped 
stealthily  into  the  garden  four  ill-clad,  desperate-look 
ing  fellows,  one  wearing  a  cloak  about  his  lank  body 
and  stifling  a  cough  as  he  walked,  another  carrying 
a  large  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  two  others  awk 
wardly  bearing  a  ladder. 

"  'Tis  all  clear,"  said  the  cloaked  individual. 
"Quick  work,  captain,  now!  That's  the  room." 
And  he  pointed  to  the  window  of  Amabel. 

Dick  gave  a  violent   start.     What   could  be  the 


294  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

purpose,  concerning  her  chamber,  of  these  birds  of 
ill  omen,  who,  doubtless  through  the  collusion  of  some 
inn  servant,  had  driven  so  secretly  into  the  coach-yard 
at  this  hour  ?  He  decided  to  wait,  that  he  might, 
before  interfering,  discover  their  plans. 

The  two  ladder-bearers,  at  a  whisper  from  the  man 
with  the  handkerchief,  placed  the  ladder  to  the  win 
dow.  The  captain  —  a  title  which  Dick  guessed  in 
this  case  to  indicate  a  highwayman  rather  than  a 
gentleman  of  war  or  sea  —  mounted  with  agility, 
and  disappeared  through  the  window,  followed  by 
one  of  the  men.  The  cloaked  fellow  stood  holding 
the  ladder,  and  the  other  went  to  the  gate  to  keep 
watch. 

Dick,  thinking  it  high  time  to  take  a  hand,  looked 
about  for  a  weapon,  and,  seeing  nothing  else,  finally 
pulled  a  stout  cross-piece  from  the  trellis.  By  this 
time  the  expeditious  captain  had  reappeared  at  the 
top  of  the  ladder,  bearing  the  swooning  form  of 
Amabel,  whose  possible  screams  he  had  provided 
against  with  the  handkerchief.  His  assistant  fol 
lowed  him  down  the  ladder,  to  give  aid  should  the 
nimble  captain's  burden  prove  too  heavy. 

Dick  ran  forward  with  a  threatening  shout,  and 
brought  his  extemporized  cudgel  down  on  the  skull 
of  the  man  in  the  cloak  ;  at  the  same  time  there  rose, 
in  the  chamber  above,  loud  cries  of  "  Help !  "  from 
Celestine,  who  had  just  awakened  to  what  was  going 


"  BEARING    THE    SWOONING    FORM    OF    AMABEL.' 


THE  DEVIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN. 

on,  The  sudden  rush  and  noise  took  the  enemy  by 
surprise.  The  man  attacked  by  Dick  made  for  the 
gate,  leaving  his  cloak  in  the  hands  of  his  assailant, 
who  had  mechanically  clutched  it.  The  captain's 
principal  assistant  leaped  from  the  ladder,  and  fol 
lowed  with  all  speed  to  the  gate,  while  the  man  on 
watch  scrambled  to  the  seat  on  the  coach  and 
whipped  the  horses  to  a  gallop.  The  captain,  see 
ing  himself  deserted,  dropped  Amabel  as  soon  as  he 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  ladder,  drew  a  pistol,  and 
made  ready  for  a  fight  over  her  body.  But  Dick 
clubbed  the  pistol  from  his  hand,  whereupon  the 
captain,  with  merely  an  ejaculation  of  annoyance, 
turned  and  fled  after  his  retreating  forces. 

Dick  picked  up  the  fainting  Amabel,  and  carried 
her  to  the  garden  bench,  whereon  he  placed  her  in 
a  sitting  attitude,  and  put  the  captured  cloak  about 
her,  lest  in  her  fragile  night-dress  she  might  be 
chilled.  Meanwhile  Celestine's  cries  had  not  abated, 
and  suddenly  Dick,  while  trying  to  fan  Miss  Engle- 
field  back  to  recovery  with  his  hat,  beheld  Lord 
George  emerge  from  the  gentlemen's  window,  in 
night-gown  and  coat,  drop  to  the  ground,  rush  up 
the  ladder,  and  plunge  into  the  chamber  whence  the 
shouts  for  aid  continued  to  issue.  Lord  George,  in 
his  haste  to  the  rescue,  had  not  noticed  Dick  and 
Amabel  in  the  garden. 

At  last  the  tender  creature  on  the  bench  gently 


296  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

stirred,  feebly  opened  her  eyes,  and  faintly  asked 
where  she  was.  Dick  immediately  enlightened  her. 
She  appeared  astonished  at  what  had  befallen,  and 
murmured,  reflectively,  "  I  shouldn't  have  thought  he 
would  take  that  way  of  doing  it,"  then  checked  her 
self  as  if  she  had  said  too  much.  Dick  supposed  she 
alluded  to  the  rich  suitor,  and  that  the  attempted 
abduction  was  the  work  of  that  person.  He  could 
not  enough  thank  heaven  for  having  enabled  him  to 
be  her  preserver,  and  he  sat  by  her  side,  on  the 
bench,  while  she  remained  wrapped  in  the  cloak, 
apparently  too  prostrated  by  the  recent  occurrence  to 
return  immediately  to  her  chamber. 

And  now  was  the  time  for  a  romantic  love  scene, 
suitable  to  the  youth  and  beauty  of  the  two  partici 
pants,  to  the  charm  of  the  surroundings,  to  the  May 
night,  the  moonlight,  the  odor  of  flowers,  the  ripple 
of  the  stream,  and  the  preceding  circumstances  of 
the  interview ;  and  doubtless  the  conversation  was 
poetic  enough  to  the  two  who  engaged  in  it,  thanks 
to  all  these  matters  and  to  the  glances,  low  tones  of 
agitation,  suppressed  fervor,  tremblings,  etc. ;  but  the 
talk  in  itself  was  no  more  original  or  impassioned 
than  this  : 

"  I'm  glad  you  aren't  hurt,"  said  she. 

"  It  would  be  a  happiness  to  carry  forever  a  wound 
received  in  such  a  cause,  —  'pon  honor,  it  would  !  " 
said  he. 


THE  DEVIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.    297 

"  Will  they  come  back,  do  you  think  ?  I  sha'n't  be 
able  to  sleep,  the  rest  of  the  night,  for  fear  of 
them !  " 

"  You  have  nothing  to  fear.  I  shall  keep  guard 
under  your  window  all  night." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  !     You  will  take  cold." 

"  I  cannot.  I  shall  be  on  fire.  My  heart  will 
glow  with  your  image,  which  has  occupied  it  ever 
since  I  saw  you  before  the  inn  at  Marlboro  yester 
day." 

"  Why,  did  you  notice  me  then  ?  I  saw  you  look 
ing  out  of  the  window,  and  I  said  to  Celestine, 
'  What  a  frank  and  generous  face  !  If  my  —  if  some 
person  were  but  like  that ! ' ' 

"  You  said  that,  really, —  and  meant  it, —  and  mean 
it  still  ? " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  how  could  I  mean  it  less,  after 
all  that  has  happened  to-night?" 

He  now  plunged  deep  into  ardent  love-making,  at 
which  she  seemed  to  be  both  frightened  and,  in  spite 
of  herself,  pleased.  Not  making  any  direct  response, 
she  began  to  sound  him  as  to  his  character  and 
opinions,  his  views  on  matters  pertaining  to  love 
and  propriety  and  honorable  conduct,  and  finally  as 
to  whether  he  would  deem  a  love  between  a  married 
and  a  single  person,  under  any  possible  circum 
stances,  justifiable.  He  declared  that,  for  his  part, 
he  would  never  make  love  to  a  married  woman, 


298  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

that  he  would  rob  no  man,  nor  injure  any  in  a 
matter  so  sacred,  —  excepting  possibly  one  man,  to 
whom  he  owed  the  keenest  of  revenges,  Mr.  Bullcott, 
of  Bullcott  Hall,  Somersetshire.  At  this  declara 
tion,  an  unaccountable  strange  look  —  astonishment 
mingled  with  secret  elation  —  overspread  her  face. 
"  Why  do  you  look  so  ?  "  inquired  Dick. 

Before  she  could  answer,  there  came  from  the 
ladies'  chamber,  whence  the  cries  had  for  some  time 
ceased  to  issue,  the  sound  of  several  slaps  and  cuffs 
in  close  succession.  An  instant  later  the  figure  of 
Lord  George,  in  coat  and  night-gown,  came  swiftly 
through  the  window  and  dropped  to  the  ground. 

"Damn  all  affected  prudery!  "  muttered  his  lord 
ship,  holding  his  hand  to  his  cheek,  and  then  clam 
bered  up  the  trellis  to  his  own  window. 

At  the  same  time,  Celestine  appeared  at  the  other 
window,  and  the  landlord,  having  first  gone  to  her 
door  and  been  informed  by  her  that  the  garden  was 
full  of  house-breakers  and  kidnappers,  came  from  the 
inn  door,  followed  by  two  servants,  while  a  detach 
ment  of  the  town  watch,  summoned  by  another  ser 
vant,  entered  by  the  wall  gate  from  the  coach-yard. 

Thus  interrupted,  Dick  had  to  make  explanations, 
and  to  hasten  Amabel's"  return  to  her  chamber  by 
way  of  the  inn  door.  He  then  returned  to  the 
garden  to  carry  out  his  purpose  of  guarding  her  win 
dow  the  rest  of  the  night,  and  there  found  one  of 


THE  DE VIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.      299 

the  watchmen  charged  with  the  same  duty,  two 
others  having  captured  the  ladder  and  very  carefully 
carried  it  off  to  preserve  as  evidence. 

Despite  what  blissful  thoughts  Dick  had  to  enter 
tain  himself  with,  he  now  found  it  harder  to  remain 
awake  than  it  had  been  when  he  was  on  sentry  duty 
in  freezing  Canada.  Relying  at  last  on  the  watchman 
who  sat  in  the  inn  doorway,  Dick  at  last  succumbed 
to  sleep,  on  the  bench,  where  he  did  not  awake  till 
dawn.  The  watchman  also  slumbered  through  the 
night,  and,  had  the  abductors  so  elected,  they  might, 
with  due  skill  and  caution,  have  carried  off  not  only 
the  lovely  Amabel,  but  Dick  and  the  watchman  as 
well. 

The  watchman  was  the  first  to  awake  ;  hence  Dick, 
assuming  that  all  was  well,  returned  to  his  chamber, 
refreshed  himself  with  a  bath,  and  put  his  clothes  in 
order.  By  the  time  this  was  accomplished,  Wilkins 
having  come  to  attend  the  gentlemen,  Lord  George 
was  up,  and  in  his  usual  good  humor  as  to  everything 
but  Celestine.  Her  resistance  to  his  attractions  he 
pronounced  an  odious  affectation,  which  he  should 
certainly  take  out  of  the  woman,  if  only  for  her  own 
sake,  for  he  admitted  she  had  some  good  points. 

Lord  George  and  Dick  had  scarcely  finished  dress 
ing,  when  there  came  a  violent  knock  on  the  door  of 
their  parlor,  heralding  the  boisterous  entrance  of  a 
stout,  ruddy-faced  young  gentleman  with  a  decided 


3OO  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

fox-hunting  look,  who  thrust  out  his  hand  to  Lord 
George,  and  blurted  out : 

"  Why,  damme,  my  lord,  don't  you  know  me  ?  By 
gad,  you  ought  to,  for  many's  the  finish  we've  been 
in  at  together,  us  two  !  " 

"  Why,  certainly,  Sir  Hilary  !  Welcome  !  Sir 
Hilary  Englefield,  Mr.  Wetheral." 

Dick  bowed,  and  surveyed  critically  the  brother  of 
Miss  Englefield. 

"  There's  the  devil  to  pay  somewhere,  or  else  I'm 
on  a  wild  goose  chase,"  went  on  Sir  Hilary,  beating 
his  riding-boot  with  his  whip.  "  A  rascal  ensign,  as 
he  calls  himself,  wakes  up  my  house  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  and  gives  me  a  letter  that  he  says,  being 
on  the  way  to  London,  he  agreed  to  carry  from  a 
ragged  wench  he  met  at  the  Pelican  here.  The 
letter  turns  out  to  be  from  a  girl  that  once  served  in 
our  house  but  fell  into  bad  ways  and  ran  off  with 
a  damned  drunken  lawyer.  It  tells  of  a  plot  of  some 
scoundrel,  whom  she  doesn't  name,  to  have  my  sister 
carried  off  from  this  inn  last  night  by  the  gang  of 
rogues  the  wench  is  travelling  with.  Well,  I  up  and 
ride  from  t'other  side  of  Reading  to  Newbury, 
twenty  miles,  like  the  very  devil,  and  when  I  get 
here,  the  inn  people  say  my  sister  left  the  inn  yester 
day.  They  tell  me  another  lady  was  nearly  kid 
napped  from  the  room  Sis  had  occupied,  but  you  and 
another  gentleman  prevented.  So  I  said,  '  I'll  run 


THE  DEVIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.     30 1 

up  and  pay  my  respects  to  his  lordship,'  and,  now 
I've  done  that,  I  must  be  off  and  look  in  the  other 
inns  for  Sister.  I  didn't  know  she  was  coming  back 
from  Bath  so  soon." 

"But,"  said  Lord  George,  detaining  Sir  Hilary, 
"  your  sister  is  here.  It  was  she  that  Wetheral  pro 
tected.  There  must  have  been  some  mistake  be 
tween  you  and  the  inn  people.  What  I  say  is  true, 
.  I  assure  you.  Learning  Miss  Englefield  was  here,  I 
made  myself  known  to  her,  and  she  and  her  friend 
passed  the  evening  with  Wetheral  and  me." 

"Oh,  then,  the  fool  of  a  landlord  was  fuddled,  I 
dare  say.  Egad,  since  Sis  is  here,  we'll  all  crack  a 
bottle  together.  We'll  have  breakfast  together. 
My  belly  aches  with  emptiness." 

"  Excellent !  "  said  Lord  George.  They  were  now 
in  that  one  of  their  two  rooms  which  served  as 
parlor ;  it  adjoined  the  bedchamber,  which  was  the 
room  whose  window  overlooked  the  garden.  Besides 
the  door  between  the  two,  each  room  had  a  door 
opening  to  the  corridor.  "We  can  have  the  table 
set  here  in  this  room,  now  that  you  are  with  us," 
continued  Lord  George,  "and  be  as  merry  as  we 
please." 

"So  we  shall,"  cried  Sir  Hilary;  "and,  mean 
while,  I'll  have  my  horse  put  away.  I  always  see 
with  my  own  eyes  how  my  beasts  are  cared  for." 
The  baronet  then,  evidently  satisfied  at  hearing  from 


3O2  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

others  of  his  sister's  safety,  ran  down-stairs  ;  while 
Lord  George,  having  sent  Wilkins  to  order  the 
breakfast,  went  out  to  walk  for  an  appetite,  Dick 
remaining  to  add  some  finishing  touches  to  his 
toilet. 

Presently  hearing  light  footfalls  and  the  swish  of 
skirts  in  the  corridor,  and  recalling  that  the  ladies 
had  not  yet  been  notified  of  Sir  Hilary's  arrival  and 
of  the  plan  for  the  breakfast  party,  Dick  hastened 
out  from  his  bedchamber,  greeted  them  both,  and 
said,  "I  have  pleasant  news  for  you,  Miss  Englefield ; 
your  brother,  Sir  Hilary,  has  arrived,  and  —  ah,  that 
is  he  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  !  He  will  be  up  in  a 
moment." 

This  announcement  had  the  most  astonishing 
effect  on  Amabel.  She  cast  a  panic-stricken  look 
around,  and  then  sought  refuge  through  the  first 
open  doorway,  which  she  closed  after  her,  and  could 
be  heard  turning  the  key  inside.  The  door  hap 
pened  to  be  that  of  Wetheral  and  Lord  George's 
bedchamber. 

Sir  Hilary,  who  had  not  seen  this  flight,  now 
arrived  in  the  corridor,  and  looked  first  at  Celestine, 
then  inquiringly  at  Wetheral.  Surprised  at  Sir 
Hilary's  not  recognizing  his  sister's  friend,  Dick  was 
for  a  moment  silent ;  then  he  proceeded,  in  some 
embarrassment,  to  make  the  two  acquainted. 

"  Sir    Hilary   must    often    have   heard    his    sister 


THE  DEVIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.     303 

speak  of  her  friend,  Celestine  Thorpe,"  said  that 
lady,  who  also  seemed  not  entirely  at  ease. 

"  Thorpe  ?  Celestine  ?  "  repeated  Sir  Hilary,  mak 
ing  the,  to  him,  unusual  effort  of  searching  his 
memory.  "  No,  I  can't  say  —  unless  you  were  the 
girl  that  went  to  school  with  Sis,  that  she  got  me  to 
write  letters  to.  I  forget  that  girl's  name." 

"  Why,  'twas  Celestine  Thorpe,"  said  the  lady. 

"  So  'twas,  now  I  think  on't.  Well,  well,  how 
Sis  used  to  plague  me,  to  make  me  answer  your 
letters,  to  be  sure !  It  seems  the  girls  at  your 
school  had  read  some  novel  or  such  book,  Palemia, 
or  Pamelia,  or  some  name  or  other,  that  got  you 
to  pestering  all  your  own  relations  and  one  another's 
with  letters.  I  never  used  to  read  yours  through, 
but  Sister  would  make  me  answer  'em,  ne'ertheless." 

At  this  point  Lord  George  returned,  and,  on  his 
invitation,  the  four  went  into  the  parlor  of  the  two 
gentlemen,  Dick  hastily  closing  the  door  between 
parlor  and  bedchamber,  and  Miss  Thorpe  telling  the 
others,  with  a  look  half  pleading  and  half  threatening 
at  Dick,  that  Miss  Englefield  would  join  them  soon. 
Servants  now  came  and  laid  a  table  for  breakfast, 
under  Wilkins's  direction.  Wine  being  brought,  Sir 
Hilary  fell  upon  it  immediately,  pleading  his  long 
ride  in  excuse.  Meanwhile  Dick,  mystified  at  the 
conduct  of  Amabel,  supposed  she  would  now  use 
the  opportunity  to  go  from  the  bedchamber  .to  the 


304  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

corridor ;  and  wondered  how  long  she  would  defer 
meeting  her  brother. 

Those  in  the  parlor,  while  the  table  was  being 
made  ready,  were  grouped  about  the  window,  which 
looked  out  from  the  side  of  the  inn ;  Miss  Thorpe 
seated,  Lord  George  at  her  one  elbow,  Sir  Hilary  at 
the  other.  The  fox-hunter,  repeating  frequently  his 
glass  of  wine,  from  a  bottle  on  a  near-by  side-table, 
became  rapidly  more  gay  and  familiar,  especially 
towards  Celestine,  whose  former  characteristics  he 
now  proceeded  to  recall.  At  this,  Lord  George 
began  to  show  irritation,  while  the  lady's  own  com 
posure  was  far  from  increased. 

"  Lord,"  said  the  baronet,  looking  mirthful  at  the 
recollection,  "what  soft  stuff  it  was,  in  the  letters 
you  used  to  plague  me  with  !  I  said  to  Sis  one  day, 
'  I've  heard  as  how  girls  at  boarding-schools  pine  for 
gentlemen's  society  and  go  crazy  to  be  made  love 
to,'  I  said,  '  but  I  never  fancied  one  of  'em  to  have 
such  a  coming-on  disposition  as  Celestine  has.'  Lord, 
Lord,  'twas  a  tender  soul !  " 

This  was  going  beyond  the  endurance  alike  of 
Celestine,  whose  present  character  was  so  different 
from  that  ascribed  to  the  baronet's  former  corre 
spondent,  and  of  Lord  George,  who  felt  doubly 
chafed  to  think  that  tenderness  denied  him  had  been 
heaped  upon  another.  Miss  Thorpe  turned  crimson 
under  his  look.  Having  to  vent  his  anger  on  some 


THE  DEVIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.      305 

one,  his  lordship  naturally  chose  the  reminiscent 
fox-hunter. 

"  Is  it  a  Berkshire  custom,  sir,"  queried  Lord 
George,  heatedly,  "to  treat  the  confidence  of  ladies 
in  this  manner  ?  " 

Sir  Hilary,  after  a  moment  of  bewilderment,  dis 
avowed  the  least  intention  to  offend,  but  his  own 
tone  showed  a  decided  resentment  of  Lord  George's. 
This  fact  did  not  make  his  lordship's  reply  any 
sweeter,  and  the  upshot  of  their  brief  but  swift  verbal 
passage  was  that  Sir  Hilary  departed  in  high  dudgeon, 
saying  he  would  find  his  sister  and  start  for  home  at 
once.  Dick  slipped  quietly  into  the  bedchamber, 
and,  to  his  surprise,  found  Amabel  still  there. 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  out  that  way,"  he  whis 
pered,  pointing  to  the  corridor  door,  "  while  we  were 
in  the 'parlor  ?" 

"  I  was  afraid  of  being  seen,"  she  answered  ;  "  the 
servants  have  been  passing  to  and  fro  outside  the 
door ;  so  I  locked  it,"  and  she  handed  him  the  key, 
which  he  took  thoughtlessly,  his  own  confusion  being 
like  that  which  had  made  her  take  the  key  from  the 
door  after  locking  it. 

"  Would  it  not  be  best  to  go  out  now,  while  the 
way  is  clear,"  said  he,  "and  meet  your  brother,  who 
has  gone  down-stairs  to  inquire  for  you  ? " 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  I  cannot  —  I  dare 
not !  Oh,  sir,  that  gentleman  is  not  my  brother  !  " 


306  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

This,  then,  explained  her  former  flight  from  Sir 
Hilary's  sight ;  explained  also  why  Sir  Hilary's  de 
scription  of  the  letter-writer  was  so  at  variance  with 
the  character  of  Miss  Thorpe,  who  had  been  forced 
into  the  role  of  his  sister's  friend  by  a  desire  to  sup 
port  Amabel.  Little  wonder  that  Celestine  was  en 
raged,  or  that  now,  left  alone  in  the  parlor  with  Lord 
George,  she  sought  refuge  from  his  sarcastic  silence 
in  an  unceremonious  retreat  to  her  own  chamber  ! 
Lord  George,  with  no  appetite  for  the  breakfast, 
which  Wilkins  at  this  moment  announced  to  be 
ready,  took  up  his  hat,  and  flung  out  for  another 
walk.  As  he  passed  the  tap-room  door,  he  heard 
Sir  Hilary  vociferously  declaiming  to  the  landlord 
within. 

It  thus  fell  out  that  Dick,  looking  cautiously  in 
from  the  other  chamber,  saw  the  parlor  deserted, 
Wilkins  having  rushed  after  his  master.  Dick  in 
stantly  beckoned  Amabel  into  the  parlor,  where  it 
was  not  likely  Sir  Hilary  would  return.  He  offered 
her  a  chair ;  but  she  preferred  to  stand,  resting  one 
hand  on  the  table,  while  she  explained  : 

"  When  we  arrived  at  the  inn,  we  were  shown  to 
the  room  another  lady  had  vacated  a  few  minutes 
earlier.  As  Celestine  took  pains  to  learn  this  morn 
ing,  on  account  of  things  that  have  happened  since  we 
came  here,  that  lady  was  Miss  Englefield.  When  we 
received  Lord  George's  message,  and  found  he  thought 


THE  DEVIL  TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.      307 

one  of  us  was  Miss  Englefield,  and  that  he  had  never 
seen  her,  I  thought  it  would  be  amusing  to  keep  up 
the  mistake.  Miss  Thorpe  opposed  it,  but  I  longed 
so  to  imagine  for  a  time  I  was  somebody  else,  I 
wouldn't  listen  to  her.  Of  course,  after  the  deception 
was  begun,  she  wouldn't  betray  me.  Well,  I  couldn't 
endure  to  be  exposed  by  others,  so  I  ran  from  Miss 
Englefi eld's  brother.  You  will  think  me  terribly 
wicked,  won't  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  'twas  a  most  innocent,  harmless  jest,"  pro 
tested  Mr.  Wetheral,  gallantly.  "  If  there  were  any 
blame,  it  would  belong  to  Lord  George  and  me,  for 
our  impertinence  in  having  Wilkins  inquire  who  the 
beautiful  lady  was.  His  informant,  it  seems,  didn't 
know  Miss  Englefield  had  left  and  another  taken  her 
place.  We  have  now  but  to  send  for  Miss  Thorpe 
-  if  she  is  Miss  Thorpe  — 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  was  no  deception  as  to  Celestine's 
name." 

"  And  as  to  your  own  first  name  ? "  Dick  was 
slightly  apprehensive. 

"That  was  given  truly.  It  is  Amabel."  Dick 
was  rejoiced. 

"  Amabel !  "  he  repeated.  "Then  that  is  the  only 
name  by  which  at  this  moment  I  know  you.  'Tis 
the  loveliest  name,  and  the  most  fitting  one,  I  swear ! 
If  you  would  but  make  it  needless,  as  far  as  con 
cerns  my  calling  you  by  name,  that  I  should  ever 


308  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

know  any  other  !  If  you  would  but  give  me  the 
right  to  call  you  by  that  name  alone  !  " 

"  Give  you  the  right  ? "  said  she  in  a  low  voice, 
and  with  downcast  eyes.  "  As  how  ?  " 

"As  by  your  mere  permission." 

"  After  what  you  know  ?  "  Her  voice  was  barely 
audible,  her  manner  agitated. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Dick. 

"That  I  am  not  the  person  I  pretended  to  be." 

"  What  difference  does  that  make  ?  Are  you  any 
less  charming?  'Fore  George,  what's  in  a  name, — 
unless  it  be  Amabel  ?  " 

"  Tis  not  a  mere  matter  of  names.  You  remember 
what  you  said  last  night  — 

"  Yes  —  whatever  it  was,  it  all  meant  that  you 
were  adorable,  and  I  mean  that  now  a  thousand 
times  over!"  He  took  her  hand,  which  she  did 
not  withdraw  from  him. 

"  But  you  said  something,"  she  went  on,  in  a  voice 
yet  lower  and  more  unsteady,  "  of  married  persons 
and  single,  —  of  not  injuring  a  man  in  a  matter  so 
sacred,  —  you  remember  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,  — I  —  " 

"  But  you  said  there  might  be  one  exception  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember.  Squire  Bullcott,  a  Somerset 
gentleman.  I  owe  him  a  very  bitter  revenge." 

"  Well,  then,  —  if  revenge  and  —  love  —  both 
pointed  to  the  same  thing,  —  what  then  ?  " 


THE  DEVrL  TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.      309 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment ;  while  she  stood 
crimson,  motionless,  scarcely  breathing,  her  eyes 
averted.  Then  he  let  go  her  hand. 

"My  God,  madam,  does  it  mean  that  you  are  — 
Mr.  Bullcott's  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  and  now  she  spoke  with  rapidity  and  more 
force,  "  and  that  I  have  endured  such  treatment  from 
him  as  I  could  bear  no  longer.  Insolence,  blows, 
neglect,  imprisonment  even,  for  he  is  as  jealous  as  he 
is  faithless,  and  has  tried  to  hide  me  from  all  society, 
having  me  guarded  by  brutal  servants  of  his  own 
choosing,  making  me  a  captive  in  my  own  apart 
ments,  and  keeping  me  under  lock  and  key  while  he 
pursued  his  amours  elsewhere.  What  could  I  do  ? 
I  was  an  only  child,  without  near  relations :  my 
parents  died  soon  after  arranging  my  marriage, 
which  was  against  my  own  wishes.  At  last  I 
learned,  through  some  careless  talk  of  my  husband's, 
that  Celestine  was  at  Bath.  She  was  my  only  friend. 
I  contrived  to  get  a  letter  to  her,  and  she  planned 
my  escape.  She  waited  at  night  in  a  private  coach, 
near  Bullcott  Hall,  while  I  got  out  of  the  house  in  the 
clothes  of  a  chambermaid  who  was  asleep.  I  ran  to 
a  place  she  had  appointed,  and  there  I  found  her 
footman  on  the  park  wall,  with  a  ladder ;  he 
helped  me  across,  and  to  her  coach.  We  took  a 
roundabout  way  to  the  London  road,  so  as  to  avoid 
Bath ;  and  when  you  met  us  we  were  on  our  way  to 


3IO  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

Celestine's  house  in  Oxfordshire,  intending  I  should 
keep  concealed  there,  for  I  am  determined  to  die 
rather  than  go  back  to  my  husband  !  " 

She  now  stood  silent,  as  if  she  had  placed  the 
situation  and  herself  in  Wetheral's  hands,  to  dis 
pose  of  as  he  might  choose.  Manifestly  she  had 
met  very  few  men,  seen  nothing  of  the  world ; 
she  was  still  a  child,  ready  to  entrust  her  whole 
destiny  to  the  first  flatterer  whose  tender  speeches 
had  won  her  heart. 

Dick  was  not  slow  in  making  up  his  mind. 

"You  spoke  of  love  and  revenge,  madam,"  said 
he,  gently.  "  They  are  strong  passions,  and  I  have 
been  strongly  urged  by  them  the  last  few  moments. 
But  we  will  resist  them,  —  not  for  his  sake,  but  for 
yours  —  and  mine.  Before  you  start  for  Oxford 
shire,  I  shall  have  started  for  London.  I  wish  you 
a  pleasant  and  safe  journey,  and  a  long  and  happy 
life.  Good-by  ! " 

Before  she  could  answer,  there  came  from  the  cor 
ridor  the  noise  of  heavy  feet  rushing  up  the  stairs, 
and  the  words  loudly  bellowed  : 

"  I'll  find  the  room,  never  fear,  that  will  I !  " 

"  My  husband !  "  whispered  Amabel,  the  picture 
of  sudden  fright.  "  If  he  finds  me  here,  he  will 
kill  me!" 

"  He'll  not  do  that,  I  promise  you !  "  said  Dick. 
"  But,  ne'ertheless,  he  mustn't  see  you ! " 


THE  DE  VIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.      3  I  I 

For  it  was  indeed  this  very  parlor  that  the 
footfalls  were  approaching.  Dick  led  the  terrified 
wife  back  into  the  bedchamber,  and  returned  in 
stantly  to  the  parlor,  in  time  to  see  Squire  Bullcott 
burst  in  from  the  corridor.  Dick  had  not  yet  closed 
the  bedchamber  door,  and  he  now  left  it  slightly 
ajar,  remembering  his  experience  in  the  St.  Valier 
house  in  Quebec,  and  thinking  by  this  negligence  to 
disarm  suspicion.  The  Squire  was  followed  by  the 
two  faithful  henchmen  who  had  used  Dick  violently 
twice  in  the  past. 

At  sight  of  Wetheral,  the  Squire  stood  aghast. 
Dick  was  near  the  bedchamber  door.  On  the  floor 
beside  him  was  an  open  portmanteau,  very  long,  in 
which  lay,  among  clothes,  a  dress  sword  of  Lord 
George's.  Dick  stooped  and  took  up  this  pretty 
weapon,  as  if  merely  to  examine  its  jewelled  hilt. 

"What,  you  cur!"  cried  Bullcott,  as  soon  as  he 
had  got  breath.  "  So  'tis  you  she  ran  away  with ! 
So  you  thought  to  revenge  yourself  on  me  by 
seducing  my  wife  !  " 

"  Mr.  Bullcott  is  too  hasty  to  vilify  that  angelic  but 
mistreated  lady,"  said  Dick,  quietly,  but  with  scorn 
as  fine  as  the  edge  of  the  sword  he  was  feeling. 

"  Hear  the  mongrel !  He'd  come  over  me  with 
talk  like  a  fine  gentleman's  in  a  play !  The  base- 
born  impostor !  He's  got  the  woman  hid  some 
where  about ! " 


312  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself  that  you  lie!"  said 
Dick,  with  a  swift  look  around  the  parlor. 

"  She's  in  that  other  room,"  cried  Bullcott,  truly. 
"  She  ain't  in  her  own  chamber,  and  she  is  with 
you.  I  paid  a  chambermaid  a  guinea  to  tell  me 
so,  and  what  you  pay  a  guinea  for  can't  be  false. 
Look  ye,  Curry  !  "  The  Squire  whispered  a  few 
words  to  one  of  his  followers,  and  that  one  at 
once  left  the  room.  "  Now,  Pike,  go  ahead  and 
knock  that  rascal  down,  and  then  I'll  go  in  and 
catch  her.  I'll  show  —  zounds  and  blood  !  Sir 
Hilary  Englefield !  " 

It  was  indeed  the  voice  of  the  fox-hunting  baro 
net,  and  as  it  approached  the  parlor  door,  making 
a  great  hullabaloo,  it  seemed  to  throw  the  formid 
able  Bullcott  into  a  panic. 

"  Did  the  knaves  that  bungled  last  night's  busi 
ness  sell  me  out  to  him,  I  wonder  ?  "  queried  Squire 
Bullcott  of  his  remaining  adherent.  Dick  had  a 
sudden  illumination.  'Twas  Squire  Bullcott  that  had 
persecuted  Miss  Englefield  at  Bath,  planned  her 
abduction  while  his  own  wife  was  availing  herself 
of  his  absence  to  run  away  from  him,  and  nearly 
succeeded  in  kidnapping  his  own  wife  by  mistake ! 
His  present  terror  of  Sir  Hilary,  then,  arose  from 
the  possibility  that  Sir  Hilary  had  learned  of  the 
Squire's  design  against  that  baronet's  sister. 

But  that  terror  proved  ill-grounded.     When   Sir 


THE  DE  VIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.     3  I  3 

Hilary  bounced  into  the  parlor,  he  greeted  the  now 
quaking  Bullcott  with  a  single  friendly  word  and  bow, 
showing  he  knew  not  yet  who  had  instigated  the  kid 
napping  ;  and  then  turned  his  wrath  on  Wetheral. 
The  landlord,  who  had  tried  to  prevent  his  entrance, 
had  followed  him  in,  and  now  made  futile  efforts  to 
avoid  a  scandalous  scene. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean,"  cried  Sir  Hilary 
to  Dick,  "  by  sending  me  off  on  a  wild  goose  chase 
after  my  sister,  when  you  have  her  in  that  room  ? 
Don't  deny  it,  you  scoundrel !  Put  down  that  sword, 
I  say !  What,  you'd  try  to  run  me  through,  would 
you  ?  You'd  save  my  sister  from  being  carried  off 
by  some  damned  hound  "  (Squire  Bullcott,  now  ut 
terly  astounded,  winced  at  this)  "and  then  reward 
yourself  by  trying  to  ruin  the  girl  yourself  ? " 

"So  it  is  your  sister  in  that  room?"  said  Dick, 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  bedchamber  door,  and 
holding  his  sword  in  a  way  that  accounted  for  the 
wordy  hesitation  of  his  would-be  assailants.  "  The 
Squire  insists  it  is  his  wife.  Sure,  it  can't  be 
both ! " 

"  Damn  the  Squire  !  "  cried  Sir  Hilary.  "  'Tis  my 
sister.  She's  nowhere  else,  and  I  paid  a  chamber 
maid  half  a  guinea,  who  told  me  she  was  here !  " 

"  Don't  be  so  fast  about  damning  the  Squire  !  "  put 
in  that  worthy,  taking  heart  and  bristling  up.  "  I 
paid  a  whole  guinea  to  find  out  my  wife  was  there. 


3H  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

So  it  must  be  she !  Besides,  didn't  the  coachman 
that  drove  her  send  word  back  to  me,  from  this  inn, 
that  she  was  running  away  ?  Didn't  the  messenger 
meet  me  at  Hungerford,  where  I  was  — ah  —  on  busi 
ness  ?  I  tell  you  what,  Sir  Hilary,  you  and  my  man 
take  that  fellow's  sword  away,  and  I'll  go  in  and  see 
my  wife ! " 

"  Devil  take  your  wife  !  "  said  Sir  Hilary.  "  Tis 
my  sister.  I  see  her  gown  at  this  moment  through 
the  door-crack.  I  know  that  gown.  There,  —  she's 
moved  backed  out  of  sight.  Sis,  come  out !  " 

"Ton  my  word,  gentlemen,"  said  Dick,  pretending 
to  make  light  of  the  accusations  of  both,  "  'tis  a  very 
curious  honor  you  are  contesting  for !  And  one  of 
you  sees  a  lady's  gown  where  none  exists !  I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  you  !  " 

But  Bullcott  seemed  struck  by  Sir  Hilary's  asserted 
recognition  of  the  dress.  "  Oh,  well,"  said  he,  "  may 
be  I'm  wrong.  Sir  Hilary  doubtless  knows  what  inn 
his  sister  lodged  at  last  night.  Egad,  if  it  turns  out 
to  be  her,  mayhap  some  folk  won't  be  so  prudish 
after  this  !  "  The  Squire  grinned  to  think  the  lady 
who  had  repulsed  him,  and  whom  he  had  failed  to 
carry  off,  might  be  compromised  after  all. 

"  What's  that  ?  What  d'ye  say  ?  "  cried  Sir  Hilary. 
"  So  my  sister  has  been  prudish  to  you,  you  old  goat ! 
Well  she  might !  I  know  your  ways ;  everybody 
does !  Well,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  don't  say  it  is  my 


THE  DE  VI L   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.    3 1  5 

sister  in  that  room  !  I  don't  say  the  landlord  wasn't 
right,  and  that  my  sister  didn't  leave  this  inn  yester 
day.  But  I  do  say  this,  and  to  you,  sir."  Sir  Hilary 
spoke  now  to  Dick.  "  You  see  how  my  sister's  good 
name  is  at  stake.  If  the  lady  in  that  room  isn't  she, 
then  my  sister  is  an  honest  girl,  and  doesn't  deserve  the 
least  doubt  against  her  reputation.  Whoever  the  lady 
is,  'tis  evident  as  much  can't  be  said  for  her.  There 
fore,  to  exonerate  an  innocent  lady,  'tis  your  duty  the 
guilty  one  shall  be  made  to  show  herself,  before  all 
in  this  room.  That's  only  fair,  sir !  Better  than  two 
ladies  suffer  reproach,  let  the  one  that  merits  it  appear 
and  clear  the  other !  Then  we  shall  know  whether 
'tis  my  right  or  Bullcott's  to  fight  you.  For  there  is 
one  lady  in  that  room,  I'll  swear !  "  Sir  Hilary  had 
become  quite  sober  and  dignified. 

That  Sir  Hilary's  sister  should  suffer  for  a  moment 
in  her  reputation  was,  of  course,  a  thought  intolerable 
to  Dick.  Yet  he  must  save  Amabel  at  any  cost. 
The  actual  truth,  if  he  told  it,  would  be  taken  as  a 
lame  excuse  for  her  presence  in  the  bedchamber. 
By  the  pig-headed  Squire,  the  mere  fact  that  his  wife 
had  fled  to  Dick's  room  to  avoid  exposure  would  be 
regarded  as  evidence  of  criminality.  Yet  how  could 
such  a  plea  as  Sir  Hilary's  be  refused  ? 

"Come,  sir!  "  said  the  baronet. 

At  that  moment  a  new  face  appeared  in  the  door 
way,  that  of  a  young  lady  of  graceful  figure,  piquant 


3l6  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

visage,  and  very  fine  gray  eyes,  These  eyes  rested 
on  Sir  Hilary  alone,  thus  missing  Squire  Bullcott, 
who,  at  first  sight  of  the  lady,  flopped  down  on  all 
fours  behind  the  breakfast -table,  a  movement  un 
noticed  while  the  general  attention  was  on  the 
newcomer. 

"  Why,  Brother,  so  you  are  really  here  ?  Wilson 
saw  you  ride  past  the  inn  at  Thatcham  this  morning, 
and  we  supposed  you  were  coming  to  the  Pelican  to 
meet  me ;  so  I  drove  back  after  you." 

"  Give  me  a  buss,  Sis  !  "  cried  Sir  Hilary,  who  had 
already  grasped  both  her  hands  and  shown  every 
sign  of  joy.  "  'Fore  gad,  you  came  in  good  time ! 
So  'tisn't  you  in  the  next  room  !  A  thousand  par 
dons,  Mr.  Wetheral !  But  what  were  you  doing  at 
Thatcham,  Sis  ?  " 

"  Why,"  replied  Miss  Englefield,  "  'tis  a  long  story. 
At  this  inn,  yesterday  afternoon,  a  maid  brought  me 
a  letter  scrawled  by  Jenny  Mullen,  who  used  to  serve 
at  the  Hall.  It  seems  she  is  now  attached  to  a  gang 
of  rogues  that  were  hired  to  make  trouble  for  me  at 
this  inn  last  night.  So  she  warned  me  in  secret  to 
leave  quietly.  She  begged  me  to  say  nothing  to  the 
landlord  or  the  watch,  lest  her  companions  might  be 
caught.  So  I  went  on  and  lay  at  Thatcham,  and 
that  is  how  Wilson  happened  to  see  you  galloping 
hither  this  morning.  Poor  Jenny  promised  to  keep 
the  rascals  drinking  in  the  tap-room,  so  they  should 


THE  DEVIL  TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.     317 

not  learn  of  my  departure,  and  she  must  have  kept 
her  promise." 

"Thank  the  Lord,  she  must  have!"  said  Sir 
Hilary.  "  But  how  the  devil  did  they  know  you 
were  going  to  lodge  here  last  night?" 

"  Why,  my  girl,  Sukey,  confessed  this  morning 
that  in  Bath  she  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  so- 
called  captain,  to  whom  she  told  the  plan  we  had 
arranged  for  our  journey.  It  seems  from  Jenny's 
letter  that  the  rogues  were  to  carry  me  off  to  a 
country-seat  near  Whitchurch  in  Hampshire ;  their 
employer  —  odious  beast  —  was  to  lie  last  night  at 
Hungerford,  and  follow  to-day  to  Whitchurch." 

"  Zounds  !  You  shall  tell  me  all  about  it,  Sis,  on 
the  way  home,  and  we'll  see  what's  to  be  done. 
Come  away  from  this  inn !  It  seems  there's  been 
the  devil  to  pay  here,  in  more  matters  than  one. 
Good  day,  sir ! "  Sir  Hilary  thereupon  led  his  sister 
quickly  out,  with  barely  a  thought  of  the  apparent 
absence  of  Squire  Bullcott,  who  indeed  might  have 
slipped  off  while  the  baronet  was  engrossed  with  his 
sister. 

The  Squire  now  rose  into  view,  very  red  and  very 
much  perturbed.  He  glanced  first  at  his  man  and 
the  landlord,  who  both  had  been  keeping  in  the 
background  during  Miss  Englefield's  presence,  then 
at  Dick,  who  still  guarded  the  bedchamber  door. 

"  Then,  since  it  ain't  his  sister,  by  God,  it  must  be 


3l8  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

my  wife !  "  whined  Bullcott,  who,  like  many  another 
person  capable  of  doing  any  wrong,  was  quick  to 
whimper  on  supposing  himself  injured.  "  I'll  expose 
her,  I'll  kill  her,  that  will  I !  Landlord,  send  for 
constables !  Oh,  the  faithless  woman,  and  the  vile 
seducer !  To  think  a  gentleman  can't  go  off  to 
attend  to  —  a  little  business,  but  his  wife  must  take 
a  dirty,  low  advantage  of  his  absence,  to  run  off  with 
a  base-born  rascal !  Send  for  constables,  landlord, 
to  force  a  way  into  that  room  !  " 

"The  landlord  well  knows,"  put  in  Dick,  thinking 
of  another  ruse  of  Catherine  de  St.  Valier's  in 
Quebec,  "  that  there  is  no  lady  in  this  room.  Why, 
if  a  lady  had  been  there,  don't  you  suppose  she'd 
have  gone  out  long  ago  by  the  other  door  "  (Dick  re 
membered  here  that  the  other  door  was  locked  and 
the  key  in  his  own  hand),  "  or  by  the  window,  from 
which  even  a  woman  could  easily  descend  by  the 
trellis  to  the  garden  ?  " 

But  the  Squire  continued  to  cry  for  constables,  and 
Dick  continued  to  detain  the  landlord  by  one  remark 
and  another.  Keeping  his  ear  on  the  alert,  he  pres 
ently  heard  the  window  in  the  bedchamber  softly 
open,  and  he  inferred  that  Amabel  had  taken  his 
loud-spoken  hint  as  he  himself  had  once  vainly 
accepted  that  of  Catherine  de  St.  Valier.  By  keep 
ing  his  sword-point  constantly  in  evidence,  he  de 
terred  the  Squire  and  the  latter's  man  from  a  rush. 


THE  DEVIL   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.     319 

The  landlord,  considering  this  guest  was  the  friend 
of  a  lord,  would  take  no  step  whatever,  and  Bullcott 
chose  to  keep  his  own  man  with  him  for  protection, 
so  there  was  none  to  summon  the  minions  of  the 
law. 

At  last  Dick,  fearing  that  Miss  Thorpe  might 
at  any  moment  enter,  and  her  presence  certify  to 
that  of  Amabel,  said  he  had  played  with  the  Squire 
long  enough,  and  would  now  let  the  latter  scan  the 
bedchamber  from  the  threshold.  Dick,  confident 
that  Amabel  would  have  acted  promptly  at  so  impor 
tant  a  crisis,  supposed  she  had  some  time  ago  reached 
the  garden,  whence  she  might  have  gone  to  her  own 
chamber.  He  therefore  flung  wide  the  door,  and 
disclosed  —  Amabel  in  the  centre  of  the  chamber, 
and  the  squire's  man,  Curry,  perched  on  the  win 
dow-ledge,  to  which  he  had  climbed  by  the  trellis 
from  the  garden,  whither  Bullcott  had  sent  him  to 
watch  the  chamber  window. 

The  Squire,  almost  black  with  rage,  started  towards 
the  bedroom.  Dick  interposed  in  time  to  stay  the 
burly  figure's  rush.  The  Squire  stepped  back  and 
gathered  strength  for  another  effort,  growling  inar 
ticulately. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Dick,  with  assumed  resignation, 
"  I  see  the  jig  is  up.  The  lady  has  refused  to  save 
me  by  flight.  She  remains,  I  see,  as  evidence  against 
me.  So,  it  seems,  your  wife  was  running  away  from 


320  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

you,  Squire  Bullcott  ?  Well,  I  can't  blame  her, 
though  I  didn't  know  that  when  I  took  her  into 
my  room  by  force." 

"  By  force  ?  "  gasped  the  Squire. 

"  How  can  I  deny  it,  when  the  lady  herself  is  here 
to  accuse  me  ? "  said  Dick.  "  You'll  admit  the 
temptation  was  strong,  —  my  door  open,  the  lady 
passing  in  the  corridor,  no  one  in  sight,  a  devil  of 
a  noise  in  the  tap-room  to  drown  her  screams,  —  not 
to  mention  that  I  threatened  to  kill  her  if  she  cried 
out." 

"  But  why  the  deuce  didn't  she  cry  out  when  she 
heard  me  in  this  room?"  queried  Bullcott,  partly 
addressing  the  silent  Amabel. 

"  For  the  rather  poor  reason,"  answered  Dick, 
"that  in  such  a  case,  as  I  promised  her  when  I 
heard  you  coming,  I  should  have  killed,  not  her, 
but  you !  And  now,  Squire,  you  see  your  wife's 
reputation  remains  untarnished  ;  she  is  safe  out  of 
my  hands,  and  if  she  can  but  make  good  her  escape 
from  yours,  she  ought  to  be  happy." 

"  Escape  from  me  ?  That  won't  she !  She'd  run 
away,  would  she  ?  Well,  now  she'll  run  back,  and 
stay  back!  D'ye  hear,  woman?  Oh,  some  one 
shall  pay  for  all  this,  that  shall  she!  I'll  show  —  " 

But  the  Squire  showed  only  a  sudden  pallor  and 
shakiness,  for  again  was  heard  in  the  corridor  the 
wrathful  voice  of  Sir  Hilary  Englefield,  this  time 


THE  DE VI L   TO  PAY  AT  THE  PELICAN  INN.     321 

coupled  with  the  excited  tones  of  his  sister,  who  was 
screaming  out  dissuasions. 

"  So  'twas  you,  Bullcott,  hired  the  rogues  to  carry 
off  my  sister !  "  roared  the  baronet,  as  he  entered, 
whip  in  one  hand,  in  the  other  a  pistol.  "  I  thank 
God  she  told  me  the  name  before  I  or  you  was  out 
of  the  town  !  So  you'd  go  to  Whitchurch  after  her, 
would  you  ?  Well,  you'll  go,  not  after  her,  but  alone  ; 
and  not  to  Whitchurch,  but  to  hell ;  you  filthy  old 
chaser  of  women !  And  you  shall  go  with  a  sore 
skin,  moreover ! " 

Whereat  the  furious  fox-hunter  began  to  belabor 
the  squire  with  the  whip,  all  the  witnesses  giving 
him  plenty  of  room.  Bullcott  bellowed,  whimpered, 
and  cowered,  leading  the  agile  baronet  a  chase  around 
furniture  and  over  it,  deterred  from  a  bolt  by  the 
presence  of  Miss  Englefield's  stout  man-servant  in 
the  corridor  doorway.  Driven  at  last  to  bay,  his 
face  and  hands  covered  with  welts,  the  Squire  made 
a  desperate  bound  and  grasped  the  whip,  wrenched 
it  from  the  baronet's  hand,  and  raised  it  to  strike. 
As  the  blow  was  falling,  Sir  Hilary  fired  the  pistol. 
Bullcott  fell,  an  inert  mass. 

Sir  Hilary  conferred  hastily  with  Dick,  then  led 
away  his  sister,  saw  her  and  her  servants  started 
homeward,  and  took  horse  by  the  Winchester  road 
for  the  seaport  of  Portsmouth.  Dick  silently  led 
the  dazed  Amabel  to  her  own  chamber,  whence  she 


322  THE   KOAD    TO   PARIS. 

and  Miss  Thorpe  departed  quietly  on  their  way  to 
Oxfordshire  while  Bullcott's  servants  were  busy  with 
preparations  for  the  care  of  the  Squire's  body.  Dick 
then  immediately  packed  up  his  and  Lord  George's 
portmanteaus,  and  took  post-chaise  for  London  as 
soon  as  Lord  George  and  Wilkins  returned  to  the 
inn,  a  large  gratuity  from  Dick  to  the  landlord  en 
abling  these  four  hasty  departures  to  be  made  before 
the  town  authorities  were  notified  of  the  killing. 
The  post-chaise  left  Speenhamland  in  the  track  of 
Miss  Englefield's  coach  and  Miss  Thorpe's,  but  did 
not  overtake  either,  all  three  parties  making  the 
utmost  speed.  Their  three  ways  diverged  at  Read 
ing,  where  Dick  and  Lord  George  made  a  brief  stop 
in  the  afternoon,  to  break  their  long  fast. 

"  Egad,"  quoth  Lord  George,  to  whom  Dick  had 
recounted  all  the  morning's  incidents,  "  'twas  a  merry 
breakfast  party  we  had  at  the  Pelican  in  honor  of 
Sir  Hilary's  arrival !  " 

Dick  heaved  a  sigh,  eloquent  of  more  than  one 
regret,  and  was  silent. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"UP    AND    DOWN    IN    LONDON    TOWN." 

THE  young  gentlemen  proceeded  the  same  after 
noon  to  Maidenhead,  and  passed  the  night  as  guests 
of  Pennyston  Powney,  Esquire,  a  friend  of  Lord 
George's,  at  his  fine  seat  south  of  that  place.  The 
next  day  they  proceeded  slowly,  in  order  to  enjoy 
the  beautiful  prospects  along  the  Thames ;  Dick 
marking  his  progress  Londonvvard  by  each  mile 
stone,  beginning  at  Maidenhead  Bridge  with  the 
twenty-fifth. 

In  Buckinghamshire  the  road  became  more  and 
more  alive  with  coaches.  At  Slough,  Dick  would 
have  liked  to  turn  southward  to  Windsor  Castle  and 
Eton  College,  of  which  edifices  he  had  enjoyed  the 
splendid  view  from  Salt  Hill ;  or  northward  to  Stoke 
Pogis  churchyard,  where  Gray  composed  his  Elegy 
and  was  buried ;  but  his  lordship  desired  to  arrive  in 
London  that  evening.  So  Dick  was  content  with 
what  glimpses  he  got  of  the  high  white  Castle,  along 
a  good  part  of  the  road.  Into  Middlesex  rolled  the 
chaise,  crossing  Hounslow  Heath  and  passing  there 
many  sheep  but  no  highwaymen ;  on  by  noble  parks 

323 


324  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

and  residences,  to  Brentford,  Dick  feasting  his  eyes^ 
on  what  he  could  see  of  distant  Richmond  with  its' 
hill  and  terrace,  and  of  Kew  with  its  royal  gardens 
and  its  favorite  palace  of  George  III.,  then  reigning. 
The  numerous  carriages,  the  stage-coaches  with 
passengers   inside  and  on  top,  and  the  other  signs 
of  nearness  to  a  great  city,  increased  as  they  bowled 
through  Turnham  Green  and  Hammersmith,  whence 
there  were   houses    on    both    sides  all  the  way  to 
Kensington.     A  great  smoky  mass  ahead  had  now 
resolved   itself   distinctly   into   towers,    domes,    and 
spires,  and,  for  watching  each    feature  as  it   sepa 
rately  disclosed    itself,   Dick  well  nigh   missed  the 
verdant  charms  of  Kensington   Gardens  and   Hyde 
Park,  on  the  left.     At  last  they  were  rattling  along 
Piccadilly,   passing  Green   Park    on    the  right,   and 
getting  a  partial  view  of  St.  James's  and  the  other 
ordinary-looking  palaces  in  that  direction.    And  pres 
ently,  as  Lord  George  wished  his  arrival  in  London 
to   be   for   a   day    unknown,  and   as   his    house    in 
Berkeley  Square  was  occupied  by  his  uncle's  family, 
they   turned   through   the    Haymarket    to    Charing 
Cross,  and  thence  into  the  Strand,  where  they  were 
finally  set  down  at  the  White  Hart  Inn,  near  the 
new  church  of  St.  Mary-le-Strand  and  the  site  of 
the  bygone  May-pole. 

After   supper,    while   his   lordship   kept    indoors, 
Dick  went  out  sightseeing ;  strode  blithely  up  the 


"UP  AND  DOWN  IN  LONDON  TOWN." 

lamp-lit  Strand,  with  its  countless  shops  lettered  all 
over  with  tradesmen's  signs ;  through  Temple  Bar, 
and  along  Fleet  Street,  with  its  taverns,  coffee 
houses,  courts,  and  tributary  streets ;  up  Ludgate 
Hill  to  St.  Paul's,  which  he  walked  around  ;  return 
ing  over  his  route,  and  then  making  a  shorter  excur 
sion,  to  see  the  theatres  of  Drury  Lane  and  Covent 
Garden ;  all  this  with  no  adventure  that  need  here 
be  related. 

The  next  day,  his  lordship  took  fine  lodgings  in 
Bond  Street,  near  Hanover  Square,  and  insisted  that 
Dick  remain  his  guest  until  the  latter  should  hear 
from  Cumberland,  —  Dick  allowing  his  lordship  to 
remain  under  the  belief  that  the  Cumberland  from 
which  he  came  was  of  England,  and  that  he  had 
been  a  great  loser  of  valuables  and  money  by  the 
supposed  defection  of  his  servant  at  the  time  he  was 
left  for  dead  in  the  road. 

Dick's  second  evening  in  London  was  passed  at 
Covent  Garden  Theatre,  where  he  saw,  and  was  daz 
zled  by,  "The  Duenna,"  that  brilliant  comic  opera 
of  serenading  lovers  in  Seville,  by  the  clever  young 
Mr.  Sheridan,  which,  first  brought  out  in  the  pre 
vious  November,  was  still  the  most  popular  piece  in 
the  company's  list.  The  next  day,  Sunday,  going  for 
that  purpose  to  the  church  of  St.  Clement  Danes, 
Dick  saw  the  great  and  bulky  Doctor  Johnson 
himself,  and  was  duly  impressed. 


326  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

On  Monday  he  took  what  he  had  left  of  his  Bath 
winnings  to  a  tailor's  shop,  and  spent  the  greater  part 
of  them  for  a  new  black  suit  for  full  dress  ;  and  that 
evening  he  went  with  Lord  George  to  a  ridotto,  in 
the  vicinity  of  St.  James's,  Lord  George  having 
previously  got  tickets. 

Not  choosing  to  venture  in  a  minuet,  Dick  imitated 
many  of  the  impudent  young  beaux  of  the  splendid 
company,  walking  through  the  gaily  decorated  room, 
and  staring  unreservedly  at  whatever  lady's  face,  be 
neath  its  cushioned  tower  of  powdered  hair,  attracted 
him.  By  the  time  the  country-dances  had  begun,  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  which  one  of  all  the  faces 
most  rivalled  the  blazing  candle-lights  themselves. 
Its  possessor  was  young,  tall,  well  filled  out,  and  of  a 
dashing  and  frivolous  countenance.  Having  learned 
by  observation  that  the  custom  in  London  differed 
not  from  that  in  Bath,  Dick  went  confidently  up  and 
begged  to  have  the  honor  of  dancing  with  her. 

She  flashed  on  him  a  quick,  all-comprehensive  look 
of  scrutiny,  then  bowed  with  a  gracious  smile,  and 
gave  him  her  hand.  During  the  dance,  Dick  made 
use  of  every  possible  occasion  to  comment  jocularly 
upon  passing  incidents  and  persons,  and  the  lady 
invariably  answered  with  a  smile  or  a  merry  remark, 
so  that  Dick  was  soon  vastly  pleased  with  his  partner 
and  himself. 

After  the  dance,  having  led   her  to  a  seat,  and 


"UP  AND   DOWN  IN  LONDON    TOWN."       $2? 

as  she  would  have  no  refreshments  brought,  he 
stood  chatting  with  her.  Lord  George  came  up 
and  greeted  both,  and  continued  talking  to  them  fa 
miliarly,  assuming,  from  the  fact  of  her  having  granted 
Dick  a  dance  in  a  public  assembly,  that  they  already 
knew  each  other.  In  the  course  of  the  talk,  Lord 
George  frequently  addressed  Dick  by  his  name,  and 
the  lady  by  hers,  so  that,  before  long,  Mr.  Wetheral 
and  Miss  Mallby  were  so  addressing  one  another. 
It  developed,  through  Lord  George's  inquiries  after 
her  family,  that  her  father  was  Sir  Charles  Mallby, 
of  Kent,  whose  town  house  was  in  Grosvenor  Square. 

While  the  three  were  talking,  Dick  noticed  an  ele 
gantly  dressed  young  gentleman  standing  near,  who 
regarded  them  with  a  peculiarly  sullen  expression. 

"  Why  does  that  gentleman  look  at  us  so  sourly  ?  " 
asked  Dick,  innocently,  of  Lord  George. 

"La!"  said  Miss  Mallby,  smiling,  and  coloring. 
"Tis  Lord  Alderby." 

Lord  George  smiled,  and  proposed  that  Dick 
should  come  with  him  to  meet  somebody  or  other ; 
whereupon  the  two  gentlemen,  one  of  them  very 
reluctantly,  left  Miss  Mallby,  who  was  then  imme 
diately  joined  by  the  surly-looking  Lord  Alderby. 

"They've  had  a  lovers'  quarrel,"  explained  Lord 
George  to  Dick,  "  which  accounts  for  her  comporting 
herself  so  amiably  to  us.  Her  gaiety  with  other 
gentlemen  this  evening  has  turned  Alderby  quite 


328  THE    ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

green  with  jealousy.  Now  that  we  have  left  the 
way  open  for  him,  he'll  humiliate  himself  as  abjectly 
as  he  must,  for  a  reconciliation.  Egad,  what  a  thing 
it  is  to  be  the  slave  of  an  heiress  !  " 

"Why,"  said  Dick,  his  spirits  suddenly  damped, 
"  I  flattered  myself  her  amiability  to  me  was  on 
my  own  account." 

"  Oh,"  said  his  lordship,  with  an  amused  look  that 
escaped  Dick,  "  so  that's  how  the  wind  blows  !  Well, 
who  knows  but  you  are  right  ?  She  may  have  tired 
of  Alderby's  sulks.  Tis  a  rich  prize,  by  Jove,  —  the 
Lord  knows  how  many  thousand  a  year !  We  shall 
certainly  call  at  Grosvenor  Square  to-morrow." 

What  young  man  can  honestly  blame  Dick  for 
clinging  to  the  belief  that  the  radiant  Miss  Mallby's 
graciousness  to  him  had  another  cause  than  the  wish 
to  pique  Lord  Alderby ;  or  for  supposing  himself 
equal  to  the  r61e  of  a' lord's  rival  for  the  love  of  a 
great  heiress  ?  The  romantic  notion  that  love  levels 
all,  was  no  new  one  in  Dick's  time,  and  had  often 
been  exemplified.  To  win  fortune  by  marriage  was 
then  held  to  be  an  entirely  honorable  act,  calling  for 
no  reproach.  Dick  had  no  intention  of  deceiving  the 
lady.  But  he  would  wait  until  her  love  was  certainly 
his,  before  disclosing  who  and  what  he  was.  Once 
his,  her  love  would  not  be  altered  by  the  unimportant 
circumstances  that  he  was  an  American  and  penniless. 
Splendid  was  the  future  of  which  Dick  dreamed 


"  UP  AND   DOWN  IN  LONDON  TOWN."       329 

that  night,  —  a  future  of  fair  estates  and  great  city 
residences,  of  coaches  and  footmen,  of  fine  clothes, 
card  playing,  music,  and  dancing. 

He  went  with  Lord  George  in  the  latter's  coach, 
the  next  afternoon,  to  the  Grosvenor  Square  house  ; 
was  graciously  received  by  Miss  Mallby's  mother, 
on  his  lordship's  account ;  met  a  great  number  of 
young  beaux  and  a  few  modish  ladies,  drank  tea,  won 
some  money  at  one  of  the  card  tables,  and  departed 
with  his  friend,  having  had  very  little  of  the  heiress's 
society  to  himself. 

As  they  were  entering  their  own  coach,  they  saw 
Lord  Alderby  get  down  from  his  ;  he  bowed  to  Lord 
George,  but  bestowed  on  Dick  a  swift  look  of  pre 
tended  contempt,  though  it  showed  real  hostility. 

"  Miss  Mallby  must  have  praised  you  to  Alderby 
last  night,"  said  Lord  George,  lightly. 

That  evening  Wetheral  and  Lord  George  stayed 
late  at  a  fashionable  tavern  in  Pall  Mall,  their  party 
having  increased  to  a  numerous  and  merry  one. 
Finally  it  was  joined  by  no  other  than  Lord  Alderby 
himself,  with  whom  came  a  thin,  middle-aged  Irish 
gentleman  addressed  as  captain  and  wearing  a 
cockade  in  his  hat.  Neither  of  these  newcomers  had 
much  to  say  for  awhile.  Presently  the  talk  fell  upon 
the  American  war,  and  an  argument  arose  as  to 
whether  General  Howe's  evacuation  of  Boston  was  to 
be  accounted  a  British  defeat.  The  name  of  cowards 


330  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

being  applied  to  the  Americans,  Dick  broke  out  with 
the  assertion  that,  to  his  personal  knowledge,  Ameri 
cans  had  given  as  convincing  proofs  of  courage  as 
he  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of  as  coming  from 
Englishmen. 

"  Courage  is  like  many  other  things,"  put  in  Lord 
Alderby,  not  looking  at  Dick,  yet  speaking  with  a 
quiet  sneer ;  "  people  are  apt  to  set  up  as  judges  of 
if,  who  never  practise  it  themselves." 

A  surprised  silence  fell  over  the  company. 

"  If  you  mean  that  remark  for  me,  sir,"  said  Dick, 
as  soon  as  he  could  command  his  voice,  "  I  am  ready 
to  let  you  judge  of  my  practice,  whenever  and  wher 
ever  you  choose !  " 

"  Without  knowing  very  well  who  you  are,  sir," 
replied  Lord  Alderby,  who  was  thickly  built  and 
below  middle  height,  but  all  the  more  arrogant  in 
his  tone  for  that,  "  I  believe  there  is  a  difference 
in  rank  between  us,  which  forbids  my  giving  your 
courage  an  opportunity." 

"  Perhaps  there  is  a  difference  of  courage  itself, 
as  well !  "  snapped  out  Dick. 

"  I  take  that,  gintlemen,"  put  in  the  Irish  captain, 
who,  it  was  plain,  had  been  brought  in  by  Lord 
Alderby  for  precisely  what  he  now  proceeded  to  do, 
"as  a  reflection  on  the  opinion  of  ivery  man  that 
knows  what  my  Lord  Alderby's  courage  is.  And, 
as  I'm  one  of  thim  min,  and  seeing  there's  no  differ- 


"UP  AND  DOWN  IN  LONDON   TOWN."       331 

ence  of  rank  bechune  this  gintleman  and  me,  I  offer 
him  here  ivery  opportunity  he  may  require  for  the 
dish  play  of  courage." 

"  And  I  take  your  offer,"  cried  Dick  instantly. 
"  I've  no  scruples  about  difference  in  rank,  and  I'm 
willing  to  fight  anybody,  high  or  low,  —  even  a  hired 
lickspittle  that  takes  up  gentlemen's  quarrels  for  pay! 
Lord  Alderby  can  tell  you  where  I  lodge  ;  he  knows 
where  he  can  find  that  out !  " 

Lord  Alderby  indeed  found  that  out,  —  not  from 
Miss  Mallby,  but  through  his  valet,  who  knew  Lord 
George  Winston's.  And  next  day,  to  Bond  Street, 
came  Captain  Delahenty's  challenge  in  regular  form. 
Lord  George,  who  never  concerned  himself  about 
his  rank,  or  let  it  affect  his  doings,  readily  consented 
to  serve  Dick  in  the  business  ;  and  so,  on  the  follow 
ing  morning,  at  dawn,  Dick  found  himself  in  Hyde 
Park,  about  to  undertake  his  first  duel. 

He  had  chosen  to  fight  with  swords,  the  blade 
being  the  weapon  in  whose  use  he  most  desired 
practice.  In  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  that  acquired 
serenity  which  comes  of  the  mind's  forcing  itself  not 
to  contemplate  the  peril  at  hand,  he  stood  under  a 
tree  at  one  end  of  a  clear  space,  while  his  antagonist, 
seconded  by  an  old  faded  beau,  emerged  from  a 
hackney  coach  and  got  himself  ready.  The  men 
fought  in  the  centre  of  the  clear  space.  Dick  began 
defensively,  but  he  had  not  parried  more  than  three 


332  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

of  the  captain's  thrusts,  till  he  perceived  that  the 
enemy  was  shaky  with  liquor.  Dick  therefore 
waited  only  until  the  other's  panting  indicated  fail 
ing  wind.  Then  he  suddenly  pressed  matters,  with 
such  accuracy  and  persistence  that  the  whole  thing 
was  over  in  a  minute,  —  Dick  putting  on  his  waist 
coat  and  frock,  with  Lord  George's  assistance,  and 
Captain  Delahenty  on  the  ground  with  a  wounded 
shoulder  that  the  surgeon  was  pronouncing  likely  to 
heal  in  a  month  or  six  weeks.  Dick  drove  back  to 
Bond  Street  in  great  elation,  eager  for  more  duels. 

Lord  Alderby's  state  of  mind  towards  Dick  was 
not  sweetened  by  this  occurrence,  as  was  shown 
by  his  lordship's  ill-sustained  pretence  of  ignoring 
Dick's  presence  when  next  the  two  were  in  the 
same  company.  This  happened  to  be  in  a  club 
house  in  St.  James's  Street,  Dick's  name  having 
been  written  down  there  by  Lord  George,  to  whom 
he  had  satisfactorily  accounted  for  his  ignorance  of 
London  and  of  London  society.  Chance  brought 
Lord  Alderby  and  Dick  to  the  same  card  table,  and 
not  as  partners.  His  lordship  soon  had  his  revenge, 
and  a  far  greater  one  than  he  thought  it  to  be,  for 
Dick,  playing  on  after  first  losses,  in  the  confidence 
that  fortune  would  serve  him  as  usually,  lost  his 
every  guinea.  He  would  have  staked  the  few  loose 
shillings  he  still  had  left,  but  that  the  largeness  of 
the  bets  would  have  made  such  a  proposition  ridicu- 


"UP  AND  DOWN  IN  LONDON   TOWN."       333 

lous.  He  went  home  to  Bond  Street  in  a  kind  of 
consternation,  faced  by  the  reality  that  he  was  a 
pauper  in  London,  and  that  luck  had  turned  against 
him.  Now  that  he  had  tasted  the  life  of  pleasure, 
poverty  seemed  not  again  endurable.  Yet  he  braced 
himself  to  consider  what  was  to  be  done. 

Now  that  he  had  no  money  worth  mentioning,  the 
hospitality  he  received  from  Lord  George  was  to 
Dick  nothing  else  than  charity.  To  continue  accept 
ing  it  would  make  his  situation  soon  insupportable. 
He  quickly  took  his  resolution.  He  must  fall  back 
to  a  lower  sphere,  where  a  shilling  was  worth  some 
thing,  and  recoup  himself ;  that  done,  he  would 
emerge  again  into  the  world  to  which  Lord  George 
had  introduced  him. 

So,  the  next  morning,  pretending  he  had  found 
at  a  lawyer's  office  in  Chancery  Lane  a  letter  from 
his  people,  Dick  told  Lord  George  he  must  leave 
London  immediately.  Then,  having  sent  for  a  hack 
ney  coach  and  taken  a  very  friendly  farewell  of  his 
lordship,  he  was  driven  to  the  starting-place  of  the 
Manchester  stage.  Being  set  down  there,  he  has 
tened  afoot,  with  his  baggage,  in  search  of  cheap 
lodgings.  These  he  presently  found  at  a  widow's 
house  in  George  Street,  which  ran  from  the  Strand 
towards  the  Thames.  He  engaged  a  room  at  sixteen 
shillings  a  week. 

The  widow  had  a  grown-up  son  employed  by  a 


334  THE   ROAD    TO   PARTS. 

mercer  in  the  Strand,  and  from  him  Dick  leaned 
where  to  dispose  of  clothes  most  profitably,  the  son 
giving  the  name  of  a  salesman  in  Monmouth  Street, 
and  adding,  "  Be  sure,  tell  him  'twas  I  recommended 
you  to  him."  Dick  parted  first  with  the  new  black 
suit  he  had  so  recently  bought,  and  so  found  himself 
comparatively  well  in  fund  for  his  present  station. 

Not  finding  his  landlady's  son  a  companion  to  his 
taste,  and  not  making  any  acquaintances  in  the  vari 
ous  coffee-houses,  taverns,  and  eating-houses  that  he 
now  frequented  in  and  about  Fleet  Street  and  the 
Strand,  he  became  afflicted  with  loneliness.  A  mere 
unnoticed  mite  among  thousands,  and  utterly  ignored 
by  the  hastening  multitude,  he  sent  his  thoughts  from 
the  vast  and  crowded  city,  back  to  the  bleak  Maine 
wilderness,  and  he  had  a  kind  of  homesick  longing 
for  the  hearty  comradeship  of  the  time  of  freezing 
and  starving  there. 

One  evening,  determined  to  enliven  himself  and 
have  another  fling  at  pleasure  at  any  cost,  he  went  to 
Westminster  Bridge  afoot,  and  thence  by  boat  up  the 
Thames,  to  Vauxhall.  He  had  no  sooner  paid  his 
shilling,  on  entering  the  garden,  than  his  spirits 
began  to  rise.  The  sound  of  the  orchestra  and  of 
singers,  heard  while  he  passed  by  the  little  groves 
and  the  statues,  brought  back  his  zest  for  gay  life, 
and  this  was  redoubled  as  he  came  into  the  brilliantly 
lighted  space  around  the  orchestra,  where  the  small 


"UP  AND   DOWN  IN  LONDON   TOWN."       335 

boxes  on  either  side  were  filled  with  people  who  sat 
eating  or  drinking  at  the  tables,  and  where  the  walks 
were  thronged  with  pleasure-seekers  of  every  rank. 
He  sat  down  on  an  empty  bench  in  one  of  the  boxes, 
thinking  to  drink  a  bottle  of  wine  and  listen  to  the 
music. 

Before  the  waiter  had  brought  the  wine,  a  gaily 
dressed  young  woman,  handsome  enough  in  her 
powder  and  paint,  came  with  almost  a  rush  to  the 
vacant  place  at  his  side,  and  said,  with  a  bold  smile, 
"  My  dear  sir,  I  can't  endure  to  see  so  pretty  a 
gentleman  drink  alone !  I'm  going  to  keep  you 
company." 

Dick,  having  inspected  the  amiable  creature  in  a 
glance,  was  nothing  loath.  So  the  waiter,  having 
brought  the  wine,  was  sent  for  an  additional  glass, 
and  then  again  for  eatables.  Dick's  companion 
proved  so  agreeable  that  he  soon  ordered  more 
wine  and  presently  forgot  the  music  in  contemplat 
ing  her  charms,  her  air  of  piquant  impudence,  her 
affectations,  and  the  shallow  smartness  of  her  talk. 
He  was  so  entertained  by  her  that,  when  the  night 
was  late,  on  arriving  with  her  at  Westminster 
Bridge,  he  took  a  hackney  coach  and  accompanied 
her  to  her  lodgings,  which,  to  his  astonishment,  were 
in  the  quite  respectable-looking  house  of  a  hosier  in 
High  Holborn. 

At  his  frank  expression  of  surprise,  she  seemed 


336  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

huffed ;  wondered  why  she  should  not  be  supposed 
to  live  like  any  other  lady,  and  said  it  was  nobody's 
business  if  she  chose  now  and  then  to  go  out  for  an 
evening  of  pleasure  in  a  free  and  easy  manner. 
Her  ruffled  feelings  were  soon  smoothed  down, 
however,  and  when  Dick  left  her  it  was  with  an 
appointment  to  take  her  to  the  next  Hampstead 
Assembly. 

This  Vauxhall  incident  cost  Dick  so  much  of  the 
money  got  from  the  sale  of  his  new  suit  that  he  was 
soon  fain  to  visit  the  Monmouth  Street  dealer  again, 
this  time  carrying  the  gamekeeper's  suit  and  wearing 
that  bestowed  on  him  by  the  whimsical  gentleman 
met  at  Taunton.  For  both  these  suits,  the  shop 
keeper  gave  him  a  sum  of  money  and  a  very  plain 
blue  frock,  a  worn  white  waistcoat,  and  a  pair  of 
mended  black  .  breeches.  Thus  Dick  left  the 
shop  in  vastly  different  attire  from  that  in  which 
he  had  entered  it,  and  when  he  returned  to  his  lodg 
ing  the  change  made  his  landlady's  son  gape  with 
wonder. 

Before  Dick  had  made  up  his  mind  as  to  how  he 
should  rebuild  his  fortunes,  he  received  one  afternoon 
a  visitor  in  a  hackney  coach,  who  was  none  other 
than  the  companionable  young  lady  of  Vauxhall,  to 
whom  he  had  made  known  his  place  of  residence. 
Her  errand  now  was  to  learn  why  he  had  failed  to 
keep  his  engagement  for  the  Hampstead  Assembly. 


"  UP  AND   DOWN  IN  LONDON   TOWN."       337 

She  did  not  stay  long  to  reproach  him,  for  no  sooner 
had  she  taken  note  of  his  cheapened  appearance, 
and  made  sure  that  it  came  from  necessity,  than 
she  swept  out  of  his  room  and  back  to  the  coach, 
on  the  pretence  of  being  offended  at  the  broken 
appointment. 

On  leaving  the  house,  she  was  seen  by  the  land 
lady's  son,  who  came  to  Dick  presently,  with  a  grin, 
and  remarked  that  Sukey  Green  had  become  a  great 
lady  since  she  had  ceased  to  walk  the  Strand  of 
nights.  On  inquiring,  Dick  learned  that  his  visitor 
was  well  known  by  sight  to  the  landlady's  son  as 
having  been,  not  many  weeks  before,  one  of  the 
countless  frail  damsels  infesting  the  sidewalks  of 
the  town  after  nightfall.  Some  turn  of  fortune  had 
taken  her  from  her  rags  and  a  hole  in  Butcher  Row 
to  the  fine  clothes  and  comfortable  lodgings  she  now 
possessed,  instead  of  to  the  Bridewell  or  the  river  or 
a  pauper's  grave,  as  another  turn  might  have  done. 
Perhaps  she  had  but  returned  to  the  condition  from 
which  she  had  fallen. 

Dick  soon  had  fallen  fortunes  of  his  own  to  think 
of.  He  knew  not  how  to  attempt  to  make  his  money 
multiply ;  or  rather  he  devised  in  his  mind  so  many 
methods  that  he  could  not  confine  his  thoughts  to 
any  one  of  them.  Thus  rendered  inert  by  his  very 
versatility,  he  saw  his  money  go  for  mere  necessities, 
and  at  last  he  had  to  seek  still  cheaper  lodgings. 


338  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

which  he  found  in  Green  Arbor  Court,  a  place 
redeemed  in  his  eyes  by  the  fact  that  Oliver 
Goldsmith  had  once  lived  there. 

It  was  not  a  locality  designed  to  increase  his 
cheerfulness.  He  had  a  narrow,  bare  room,  high  up 
in  a  dirty,  squalid  house ;  from  his  window  he  could 
see  old  clothes  flying  from  countless  windows  and 
lines ;  and  the  sounds  most  common  to  his  ears  were 
the  voices  of  washerwomen  laughing  or  quarrelling 
and  of  children  shouting  or  squalling.  Not  far  in 
one  direction  was  Newgate  Prison,  and  not  far 
in  another  was  that  of  the  Fleet. 

In  going  to  Fleet  Street,  he  had  to  descend  Break 
neck  Stairs,  —  which  numbered  thirty-two  and  were 
in  two  steep  flights  and  led  him  to  the  edge  of  Fleet 
Ditch,  —  traverse  a  narrow  street,  and  go  through 
Fleet  Market.  This  was  a  route  that  Dick  often 
took,  for  he  preferred  still  to  dine  in  and  about 
Fleet  Street,  though  no  longer  at  the  Grecian  Coffee 
house  or  Dick's  or  the  Mitre  Tavern,  to  all  which 
places  he  had  resorted  while  lodging  in  George 
Street,  but  at  the  cheaper  places,  —  Clifton's  Eating- 
house,  in  Butcher  Row,  for  one.  Sometimes  his 
meal  consisted  solely  of  a  pot  of  beer  at  the  Goat 
Ale  House  in  Shire  Lane.  He  fell  at  last  to  the 
down-stairs  eating-houses,  where  his  table-mates  were 
hackney  coachmen,  servants  poorly  paid  or  unem 
ployed,  and  poverty-stricken  devils  and  unsuccessful 


"  UP  AND   DOWN  IN  LONDON   TOWN."       339 

rascals  of  every  sort.  It  was  here  that  his  fortune 
took  an  upward  course  again. 

Appealed  to,  one  day,  in  a  low  tavern,  to  settle  a 
card  dispute  between  two  bloated,  sore-faced  fellows 
who  had  come  to  the  point  of  accusing  each  other  of 
being,  one  a  footpad  and  the  other  a  grave  robber, 
Dick  acted  the  umpire  to  the  satisfaction  of  both, 
and  then  went  on  to  do  a  few  astonishing  things  with 
their  cards.  Others  in  the  tavern  gathered  round 
him,  until  presently,  seeing  the  crowd  and  the  inter 
est  both  increasing,  Dick  observed  that  his  time 
was  valuable  and  that  he  could  not  afford  to  show 
any  more  skill  for  nothing.  But  the  body-stealer 
refused  to  receive  the  dirty  cards  handed  back  to 
him  by  Dick,  and  the  footpad  speedily  took  up  a 
collection,  with  such  a  "  money-or-your-life  "  air  that 
a  hatful  of  greasy  coins  was  soon  raised  to  induce 
Dick  to  go  on  with  his  tricks.  As  many  of  these 
tricks  were  of  old  Tom's  invention,  they  differed 
from  those  with  which  the  London  scamps  were 
familiar. 

The  footpad  and  the  resurrectionist  now  persuaded 
Dick  to  go  to  another  tavern,  where  they  opened  the 
way  for  his  apparently  extemporaneous  performances, 
and  where  they  raised  good  sums  for  him.  He  won 
dered  at  first  at  the  zeal  with  which  they  worked  to 
enrich  him,  but  he  presently  saw  that  they,  pretend 
ing  to  be  chance  observers,  were  quietly  making  bets 


34O  THE   ROAD    TO   PAKIS. 

with  other  spectators  on  the  results  of  certain  of  his 
card  manipulations.  He  thereupon  left  off,  and 
escaped  from  this  undesired  partnership.  But  he 
now  engaged  an  honest,  impoverished  hack  writer, 
whom  he  met  in  an  eating-cellar,  to  sit  at  tavern 
tables  with  him  and  appear  an  interested  observer  of 
his  card  tricks,  enlist  the  crowd's  attention,  and  sug 
gest  the  inevitable  passing  around  of  the  hat.  This 
combination  continued  for  a  week,  during  which  time 
the  low  taverns  were  visited  in  succession,  from  White- 
friars  to  St.  Catherine's,  from  Cripplegate  to  South- 
wark.  Dick's  earnings  consisted  only  of  what  the 
spectators  willingly  gave  for  their  amusement,  but  at 
the  week's  end  that  amount  sufficed  for  the  purchase 
of  a  good  suit  of  clothes  at  a  tailor's  in  the  Strand, 
and  for  another  purpose  besides,  which  Dick,  once 
more  clad  like  a  gentleman,  speedily  set  out  upon. 

He  went  boldly  back  to  Pall  Mall,  ran  across  sev 
eral  acquaintances  to  whom  Lord  George  Winston  had 
made  him  known,  and  got  one  of  them  to  introduce 
him  to  a  certain  respectable-looking  house  in  Covent 
Garden  ;  and  in  that  house,  whose  interior  showed 
an  activity  not  promised  by  its  outside,  he  won  at 
faro  an  amount  that  filled  every  other  player  at  the 
table  with  resentful  envy.  When  he  left,  he  felt 
himself  again  a  made  man ;  his  pockets  were  heavy 
with  money. 

The  night  was  well  advanced  when  he  issued  from 


"UP  AND  DOWN  IN  LONDON  TOWN."      34! 

the  gambling-house,  enjoying  the  relief  and  the  fresh 
air  after  the  excitement  and  heat  of  the  rooms.  He 
walked  to  the  Strand  and  turned  towards  Temple  Bar, 
intending  to  sup  at  the  Turk's  Head  Coffee-house. 
When  he  reached  the  Strand  end  of  Catherine 
Street,  he  was  accosted,  with  more  than  ordinary  im 
portunity,  by  one  of  the  most  miserable-looking  of 
the  frail  creatures  that  walked  the  street  there.  As 
he  was  in  the  act  of  avoiding  her,  she  called  out  his 
name  in  sudden  recognition,  and  he  then  knew  her 
as  the  gay  young  woman  of  High  Holborn  whom  he 
had  met  at  Vauxhall. 

Struck  with  pity  to  see  in  so  sad  a  plight  a  person 
recently  so  prosperous,  he  could  not  but  walk  along 
with  her  to  hear  her  story.  She  had  lost  the  means 
of  support  that  had  enabled  her  to  live  in  a  good 
neighborhood  and  flaunt  her  finery  at  Vauxhall, 
Ranelagh,  and  the  Hampstead  Assembly.  She 
lodged  no  longer  in  High  Holborn,  nor  even  in 
Butcher's  Row ;  in  fact,  she  knew  not  where  she 
was  to  pass  that  night.  She  showed,  through  all 
her  cast-down  demeanor,  a  decided  reawakening 
of  regard  for  Dick,  and  even  hinted,  after  they  had 
talked  for  some  time,  that  her  loss  of  favor  had  arisen 
from  her  acceptance  of  his  escort  from  Vauxhall.  So 
Dick  gave  her  a  few  shillings  for  her  immediate  ne 
cessities,  and  told  her  to  call  at  his  lodging  in  Green 
Arbor  Court  on  the  morrow,  when  they  would  dis- 


342  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

cuss  what  might  be  done  for  her.  It  was  at  her  own 
suggestion  that  his  residence  was  selected  as  the 
place  of  meeting. 

But,  on  the  morrow,  she  did  not  call  at  the  ap 
pointed  time.  So  Dick  went  out  to  attend  to  busi 
ness  of  pressing  importance,  which  was  no  other  than 
to  buy  a  new  black  suit  and  other  necessaries.  In 
the  afternoon  he  went  to  Pall  Mall  and  renewed 
acquaintances,  saying  he  had  returned  to  London  the 
day  before  yesterday.  Pumping  a  young  gentleman 
whom  he  knew  to  be  on  close  terms  with  the  Mallby 
family,  he  learned  that  the  dazzling  heiress  was  still 
in  town  and  that  a  place  had  been  taken  for  her  for 
that  night's  performance  at  the  little  theatre  in  the 
Haymarket.  Dick  hastened  to  secure  a  seat  as 
near  as  possible  to  the  box  in  which  Miss  Mallby 
was  to  be. 

In  the  evening,  which  was  that  of  Wednesday, 
July  10,  attired  in  his  best,  Dick  occupied  a  seat  in 
the  pit,  in  the  midst  of  a  crowded  audience,  and  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  not  only  the  heiress,  but 
also  their  Majesties,  George  III.  and  Queen  Charlotte, 
who  both  laughed  immoderately  at  Mr.  Foote  as 
"  Lady  Pent weazle,"  -  —  especially  when  he  appeared 
under  a  vast  head-dress  filled  with  feathers,  in  exag 
geration  of  the  reigning  mode. 

It  was  some  time  before  Dick's  admiring  gaze  held 
the  attention  of  Miss  Mallby,  which  it  caught  while 


"UP  AATD   DOWN  IN  LONDON   TO&N."       343 

she  scanned  the  crowded  house  from  her  box ;  and 
some  time  after  that  before  she  recalled  who  he  was. 
But  when  she  did  recognize  him,  it  was  with  a  smile 
so  radiant  that  Lord  Alderby,  then  standing  at  her 
side,  turned  quite  red  and  pale  successively,  and 
glared  at  Dick  with  a  most  deadly  expression.  In 
response  to  a  slight  movement  of  her  fan,  Dick 
forced  his  way  to  her,  between  acts,  and  had  a  brief 
chat  about  the  audience,  the  weather,  his  supposed 
absence  from  town,  Lord  George  Winston,  and 
such  matters,  which  in  themselves  certainly  contained 
nothing  to  warrant  the  mischievous  smiles  on  her 
part,  and  the  languishing  glances  on  his,  that 
accompanied  the  talk. 

Any  one  but  Dick  and  Lord  Alderby  could  have 
seen  that  the  lady's  sole  motive  was  a  desire  to  keep 
his  lordship  jealous.  But  Dick  took  all  signs  as  they 
appeared  on  the  surface,  and  when  he  left  the  play 
house  it  was  with  a  flattering  delusion  that  her  hopes 
of  seeing  him  soon  again  were  from  the  heart.  He 
did  not  observe  that  Lord  Alderby,  before  handing 
Miss  Mallby  into  her  coach,  pointed  him  out  to  a 
footman  and  hurriedly  whispered  some  instructions. 

Dick  went  on  air  to  his  room  in  Green  Arbor 
Court,  —  for  he  intended  to  retain  his  lodging  there 
until  he  should  find  a  residence  perfectly  to  his  taste. 
He  laughed  to  think  of  a  gentleman  of  his  figure 
coming  home  to  Green  Arbor  Court,  and  wondered 


344  THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS. 

whether  such  contrast  was  typical  of  any  one's  else 
career,  as  it  was  of  his. 

The  next  day,  to  his  astonishment,  —  for  he  sup 
posed  the  Vauxhall  girl  to  be  the  only  outside  person 
knowing  where  he  lived,  —  he  received  in  his  wretched 
room  a  visit  from  a  man  dressed  like  a  servant  but 
evidently  horrified  at  the  rickety  surroundings.  This 
person,  being  assured  by  Dick  that  the  latter  was 
Mr.  Richard  Wetheral,  handed  him  a  letter,  and  fled 
forthwith.  The  letter,  on  clean  plain  paper,  and  in 
an  ill-formed  but  fine  feminine  hand,  read  thus  : 

"  HOUNERD    SIR  : 

"  I  mak  bolde  to  tell  you  for  hearings  sak  taike  outher  lodg 
ings  and  do  not  go  neer  them  wch  you  now  live  att  —  tis  a 
qestchun  of  lifeorDeth  and  sure  do  not  go  neer  them  at  nite, 
this  nite  above  all  —  do  not  waite  a  minute  but  take  outher 
wons  att  wonse  —  from  Won  that  noes  and  wch  deesirs  you 
noe  harm  yr  respeckfull  an  dutyfull  servt." 

Dick  was. completely  puzzled.  What  danger  could 
he  be  in,  through  remaining  at  his  present  abode  ? 
Who  could  be  his  unknown  warner  ?  Not  the  Vaux 
hall  girl,  for  she  had  written  her  name  for  him  on  a 
card,  and  this  was  not  her  handwriting.  The  quality 
and  cleanliness  of  the  paper  indicated  a  person  living 
in  good  case,  —  perhaps  a  maid-servant  in  some  fine 
house.  Then  he  recalled  the  face  of  the  man  who 
had  brought  the  letter,  and  whom,  at  the  moment,  he 


"  UP  AND   DOWN  IN  LONDON   TOWN."       345 

had  thought  he  had  seen  somewhere  before.  Recol 
lecting  singly  each  incident  of  his  life  in  London,  he 
at  last  located  the  man's  face.  It  was  that  of  afoot- 
man  at  the  Mallbys'  house  in  Grosvenor  Square. 
But  what  maid-servant  in  that  house  could  have 
noticed  Dick  ?  Indeed,  what  person  in  that  house 
had  done  so  but  Miss  Mall  by  herself  ?  So  the  heir 
ess,  to  avoid  discovery  in  the  matter,  might  have 
caused  her  maid  to  send  the  warning.  Now  what 
possible  danger  to  Dick  could  Miss  Mallby  be 
aware  of,  save  one  that  Lord  Alderby  might  have 
threatened  or  planned  ?  But  would  Lord  Alderby 
have  informed  her  of  such  plans  ?  Perhaps  so,  in 
a  moment  of  anger,  as  men  -will  anticipate  the 
pleasure  of  revenge,  by  announcing  that  revenge  in 
advance ;  perhaps  not.  If  not,  one  or  two  of  his 
lordship's  servants  would  probably  have  been  in 
his  confidence,  and  thus  the  cat  might  have  been  let 
out  of  the  bag  to  one  of  Miss  Mallby's  maids.  So 
Dick  concluded  that,  if  he  was  in  any  danger,  it  must 
be  from  Lord  Alderby,  his  only  powerful  enemy. 
But  he  resolved  to  disdain  the  warning,  nevertheless, 
and  he  went  forth  to  look  in  a  leisurely  way  for 
suitable  lodgings,  as  he  had  intended  to  do,  though 
he  would  not  move  into  them  for  two  or  three 
days. 

But  he  wasted  the  day  in  riding  about   London, 
viewing    things    he    had    not    seen    before.      In   the 


346  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

evening  the  whim  seized  him  to  go  to  Ranelagh.  It 
was  not  until  late  at  night,  when  he  turned  from 
Fleet  Street,  through  the  market,  that  he  thought 
of  the  morning's  warning.  He  felt  a  momentary 
tremor,  so  dark  and  deserted  was  the  narrow  street 
leading  to  Breakneck  Stairs.  But  he  braced  himself 
within,  and  strode  along  with  apparent  blitheness ; 
yet  he  could  not  help  thinking  that  Breakneck  Stairs 
would  be  an  excellent  place  for  an  attack  by  his 
enemies.  Peering  forward  in  the  darkness,  he 
turned  from  the  border  of  Fleet  Ditch,  and  mounted 
the  first  steps.  At  the  side  of  the  stairs,  there 
ascended  a  row  of  houses,  all  now  in  deep  shadow. 

He  had  reached  the  landing  between  the  two 
flights,  without  incident,  when  suddenly  from  the 
shadow  at  the  side  a  dark  lantern  was  flashed  upon 
his  face,  and  out  rushed  three  or  four  burly  figures. 
"  Heave  the  spalpeen  down  the  shtairs !  "  cried  a 
voice  from  the  shadow,  —  a  voice  that  Dick  instantly 
recognized  as  Captain  Delahenty's,  and  from  which 
he  knew  the  attack  was  indeed  at  Lord  Alderby's 
instigation. 

The  men  were  armed  with  bludgeons,  and  three 
rushed  upon  Dick  at  once.  But  he  had  no  mind  to 
make  his  bed  in  Fleet  Ditch  ;  hence  he  met  the  mid 
dle  rascal  with  a  violent  kick  in  the  belly,  and, 
getting  instantly  between  the  other  two,  shot  out 
both  arms  simultaneously,  clutching  at  their  throats. 


"  UP  AND  DOWN  IN  LONDON   TOWN."       347 

But  now  the  captain  and  one  other  man  rushed  out 
from  the  shadow,  and  Dick  thought  all  was  up. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  cry  from  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  "  Hold  off,  that  man  belongs  to  us  !  "  There 
followed  a  flashing  of  other  lanterns,  and  a  scuffle  of 
footsteps  down  from  the  top.  In  another  moment, 
Dick's  first  assailants  were  resisting  this  new  force, 
who  had  fallen  upon  them  with  bludgeons.  A  sharp, 
quick  fight,  in  which  Dick  himself  took  no  part 
whatever,  left  the  newcomers  in  possession  of  the 
landing  and  of  .him,  while  Captain  Delahenty  and  his 
gang  were  carrying  their  broken  heads  rapidly  down 
the  stairs  and  off  towards  Fleet  Market. 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  rescue,"  said  Dick  to  the 
stalwart  leader  of  the  victorious  party,  as  that  leader 
held  up  a  lantern  before  Dick's  face. 

"  You  may  call  it  a  rescue,  if  you  like,"  growled 
the  leader,  "but  some  would  rather  die  in  a  street 
brawl  than  swing  at  Tyburn.  Edward  Lawson, 
otherwise  known  as  Captain  Ted,"  and  the  man,  who 
had  pronounced  these  names  in  an  official  manner, 
waited  as  if  for  Dick  to  answer  to  them. 

"  If  you  mean  that  you  take  me  for  a  person  of 
that  name,"  said  Dick,  "  I  have  to  tell  you  that  you 
are  disappointed." 

"  Oho  !  "  was  the  answer.  "  That  game  ain't 
worthy  of  you,  captain !  But  if  you  wish  to  play  it 
out,  you  can  play  it  out  in  Bow  Street,  and  at  the 


348  THE    ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Old  Bailey  after  that.  I  arrest  you,  Edward  Lawson, 
commonly  called  Captain  Ted,  on  a  charge  of  high 
way  robbery.  Here's  the  warrant,  which  God  knows 
I've  carried  around  long  enough  !  You  know  the 
usual  formality,  captain." 

And  at  this  the  bewildered  Dick  unresistingly 
saw  himself  seized  by  his  arms,  while  another  of  the 
constables  —  for  constables  these  were  —  adorned 
him  with  a  pair  of  handcuffs.  He  was  then  marched 
back  to  Fleet  Street  —  for  it  appeared  he  was  no 
common  prisoner,  for  the  nearest  roundhouse  —  and 
thence,  by  way  of  the  Strand  and  other  familiar 
thoroughfares,  to  a  building  in  Bow  Street,  cele 
brated  for  the  fact  that  Fielding  wrote  "  Tom  Jones" 
therein. 

But  another  Fielding  presided  there  now.  Dick 
received  free  lodging  till  morning,  and  then  he  was 
escorted  to  the  court-room  close  at  hand,  to  take  his 
turn  as  one  among  a  crowd  of  anxious  wretches  of 
both  sexes,  who  stood  in  a  railed  enclosure  at  one 
side  of  a  vacant  space,  before  the  table  at  which  sat 
the  grave  magistrate  in  all  the  vestments  and  sol 
emnity  of  his  office.  To  Dick's  amazement,  he 
beheld  in  an  opposite  railed  space  certain  faces  with 
which  he  was  acquainted,  —  those  of  his  George 
Street  landlady's  son,  the  Monmouth  Street  shop 
man  to  whom  he  had  sold  the  clothes,  and  the  Vaux- 
hall  girl.  Dick  wondered  what  the  whole  business 


"UP  AND   DOWN  IN  LONDON  TOWN."       349 

meant,  and  what  it  would  lead  to.  At  last  his  turn 
came. 

The  magistrate  glanced  at  him  indifferently,  and 
addressed  him  coldly,  in  a  few  words  whose  meaning 
Dick  did  not  take  pains  to  gather.  Then  a  clerk 
at  the  table  read  monotonously  a  long  document, 
wherein  it  appeared  that  a  number  of  people  had 
sworn  to  certain  occurrences,  which,  as  far  as  Dick 
could  see,  did  not  concern  him  in  the  least ;  namely, 
that  Moreton  Charteris,  gentleman,  of  Bloomsbury 
Square,  had  been  robbed  of  money,  valuables,  and 
wardrobe,  early  in  the  previous  February,  by  a  high 
wayman  who  had  stopped  his  coach  near  Turnham 
Green  ;  that  a  woman  who  had  quarrelled  at  Reading 
with  one  Edward  Lawson,  known  as  Captain  Ted, 
knew  the  said  Lawson  to  have  been  the  robber  of 
Mr.  Charteris,  and,  on  her  threatening  to  inform 
against  him,  to  have  fled  towards  Bath  in  one  of  the 
stolen  suits  of  clothes  ;  and  that  Mr.  Charteris's  ser 
vant  had,  in  June,  recognized  one  of  the  stolen  suits 
in  a  Monmouth  Street  shop. 

And  now  the  shopkeeper  in  the  witness  box 
identified  that  suit  as  the  one  so  recognized,  and 
Dick  as  the  man  who  had  sold  it ;  and  from  further 
testimony  Dick  could  infer  that  the  servant's  discov 
ery  had  sent  Bow  Street  runners  to  the  shopman, 
who  had  referred  them  for  information  regarding 
Dick's  whereabouts  to  the  landlady's  son,  who  in 


350  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

turn  had  sent  them  to  the  Vauxhall  girl ;  and  that 
through  her  treachery  they  had  learned  his  place  of 
lodging.  In  fact,  that  grateful  creature  had  stood 
in  wait  with  the  constables  at  the  head  of  Breakneck 
Stairs,  and  announced,  when  his  first  assailants'  lan 
tern  had  lit  up  his  features,  that  he  was  the  man  the 
constables  wanted.  She  had,  though,  kept  out  of 
his  sight,  from  a  greater  sense  of  shame  than  many 
of  her  class  would  have  shown.  As  for  the  attack 
by  the  Delahenty  party,  it  had  been  as  great  a  sur 
prise  to  the  waiting  constables  as  to  Dick. 

And  now  Dick  was  hastily  identified  by  two  bold- 
looking  women,  as  the  aforesaid  Edward  Lawson, 
otherwise  Captain  Ted.  He  remembered  that  the 
whimsical  gentleman  met  at  Taunton  had  resembled 
him,  and  he  perceived  now,  considering  the  danger 
of  being  betrayed  by  the  woman  quarrelled  with,  and 
of  being  far  sought  by  the  Bow  Street  men,  why 
that  gentleman  had  taken  the  caprice  of  exchanging 
good  clothes  for  bad.  In  putting  this  and  that  to 
gether,  as  he  stood  in  the  dock,  Dick  lost  track  of 
the  court's  proceedings,  and  it  came  like  a  sudden 
blow  when  he  saw  Sir  John  Fielding  gaze  hard  upon 
him,  and  heard  Sir  John  Fielding  commit  him,  as 
Edward  Lawson,  to  the  jail  of  Newgate,  there  to 
be  kept  in  custody  until  he  should  be  brought  forth 
to  stand  his  trial ! 

To  Newgate,  to  await  trial  for  highway  robbery, 


"UP  AND   DOWN  IN  LONDON   TOWN."       351 

the  penalty  of  which  was  death  by  hanging  ;  readily 
identified  as  the  guilty  man  by  those  who  would 
stick  to  their  oath  ;  unable  to  prove  by  any  person 
in  England  that  he  was  not  that  man,  for  all  his 
acquaintances  had  been  made  since  the  exchange  of 
clothes,  —  a  pleasant  series  of  thoughts  to  keep  the 
adventurous  Master  Dick  company  in  the  hackney 
coach  that  rattled  him  swiftly  away  from  the  Bow 
Street  court  to  the  great,  vile,  many-chambered  stone 
cage  where  such  gallows-birds  as  Master  Jack  Shep- 
pard  and  Monsieur  Claude  Duval  had  lodged  before 
him  !  And  if  those  thoughts  were  not  enough,  there 
was  that  of  the  cart-ride  out  Holborn  to  Tyburn  tree, 
a  picturesque  ending  for  a  journey  over  so  many 
hills  and  so  far  away  ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  FAIR    STOOD    THE    WIND    FOR    FRANCE." 

WAS  it  worth  being  saved  from  murder  at  the 
hands  of  Lord  Alderby's  hirelings  on  Breakneck 
Stairs,  to  swing  a  few  months  later  at  Tyburn  ? 
Dick  asked  himself  this  question  in  the  first  few 
hours  during  which  he  either  sat  listless  in  the 
dim-lit  cell  shared  by  him  with  a  half-dozen  foul- 
mouthed  and  outwardly  reckless  rascals,  or  paced 
the  courtyard  upon  which  his  and  other  cells 
opened. 

It  was  not  so  much  the  confinement  that  crushed 
him,  though  that  was  a  terribly  galling  thing  ;  he  had 
endured  closer  confinement  in  Boston,  and  on  the 
Adamant.  But  never  had  he  been  surrounded  by 
so  vile  a  herd  of  beings.  He  accustomed  himself, 
though,  in  time,  to  their  crime-stamped  faces,  their 
disgusting  talk,  and  the  sodden  drunkenness  they 
were  enabled  to  maintain  by  means  of  the  liquor 
smuggled  to  them  by  visitors,  —  for  the  courtyard 
and  the  cells  thronged  every  day  with  visitors  of 
either  sex,  and  of  quality  similar  to  that  of  the 

352 


"FAIR   STOOD    THE    WIND   FOR    FRANCE."    353 

prisoners  themselves.  Dick  was  presently  able  to 
discriminate  among  his  jail-mates,  and  so  he  found 
one  or  two  of  more  gentle  stuff. 

One  of  these  was  a  young  Frenchman  awaiting 
trial  for  an  assault  of  which  he  declared  that  he  had 
been  the  victim  and  that  the  complainant  had  been 
the  aggressor.  In  order  to  converse  with  this  one 
refined  companion  without  being  understood  by  their 
coarse  associates,  Dick  resumed,  with  him,  the  study 
of  French,  and,  as  he  now  had  plenty  of  time,  he 
made  rapid  progress.  There  were  several  French 
books  brought  by  this  tutor's  visitors,  from  which 
to  learn  the  written  language,  and  there  was  the 
tutor's  own  speech  from  which  to  acquire  the  pro 
nunciation. 

It  will  be  seen,  thus,  that  Dick  had  plucked  up 
heart,  as  it  was  his  nature  to  do.  He  steadfastly 
refrained  from  looking  into  the  future,  and  he  made 
no  provision  in  regard  thereto.  A  grinning  attorney 
had  benevolently  buttonholed  him  on  his  first  day 
of  imprisonment,  and  had  proposed  to  take  his  case 
in  hand,  but,  on  learning  how  little  money  Dick 
would  have  for  the  luxury  of  a  defence,  this  person 
had  gone  away,  minus  grin  and  benevolence. 

Dick  had  more  money  than  he  had  offered  the 
shark  of  the  law,  but  he  needed  it  in  order  to  pay 
for  quarters  and  food  of  a  grade  above  that  which 
had  to  be  endured  by  those  miserable  prisoners  who 


354  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

could  pay  nothing  and  who  had  to  live  on  a  penny 
loaf  a  day.  The  court  in  which  Dick  abode  was 
neither  the  best  nor  the  worst  in  Newgate ;  but  the 
best,  where  those  dwelt  who  paid  most,  was  loath 
some  enough  as  to  the  company. 

To  follow  the  example  set  by  Wetheral  himself  in 
his  memoirs,  and  to  make  swift  work  of  his  Newgate 
life,  —  for  only  in  the  "  Beggar's  Opera  "  is  Newgate 
life  a  merry  thing  to  contemplate,  —  let  it  be  said  at 
once  that  a  true  bill  was  duly  found  against  him  by 
the  grand  jury,  and  that  his  trial  was  set  for  the 
September  sessions  at  the  Old  Bailey  Sessions  House, 
next  door  to  Newgate  Prison.  As  Dick  surveyed 
the  long  list  of  witnesses  who  would  be  called  for  the 
Crown,  and  bethought  him  that  he  was  without 
witness  or  counsel,  the  vision  of  Tyburn  gallows  was 
for  a  moment  or  two  exceedingly  vivid  before  his 
mind's  eye. 

It  was  now  about  the  middle  of  August,  and  that 
same  day  there  came  to  Dick  another  piece  of  news 
brought  in  by  visitors, —  that  on  the  fourth  day  of 
July  the  American  rebels,  in  the  State  House  in 
Philadelphia,  had  declared  the  colonies  to  be  free 
and  independent  States.  A  thrill  of  joy  and  pride 
brought  the  tears  to  Dick's  eyes,  and  the  apparition 
of  Tyburn,  the  very  sense  of  the  Newgate  walls  and 
herd  around  him,  gave  way  to  visions  of  things  far 
over  seas,  of  people  rejoicing  in  the  cities  he  had 


"  FAIR   STOOD    THE    WIND  FOR   FRANCE."    355 

passed  through  towards  Cambridge,  of  his  father 
rubbing  hands  and  crying  "Well  done!"  over  the 
news,  at  home  in  the  Pennsylvania  valley  ;  of  the 
cheers  of  Washington's  men,  and  the  sage  comments 
of  old  Tom  MacAlister.  When  he  awoke  to  New 
gate  and  the  Tyburn  phantom,  he  brought  his  teeth 
hard  together  and  fretted  at  fate. 

Early  in  September,  sitting  idly  on  a  bench  at  an 
end  of  the  court,  his  ears  pricked  up  at  the  words, 
"  American  prisoner,"  uttered  in  course  of  talk  by  a 
woman  who  was  making  a  visit  to  an  imprisoned 
waterman  accused  of  robbing  a  passenger. 

"  They  say  as  'ow,  afore  'e  was  picked  up,  off  the 
Lizard,  by  the  ship  as  brought  'im  'ere,"  she  went  on, 
"  the  rebel  'ad  got  out  o'  jug,  by  jumpink  on  a  'orse 
in  Pendennis  Castle,  and  ridink  away  in'  broad  day 
light,  afore  a  multitood  o'  people." 

A  prisoner  escaped  from  Pendennis  Castle  on 
horseback !  Dick  instantly  joined  in  the  conversa 
tion.  "  You  say  a  ship  picke.d  the  man  up,  off  the 
Lizard,"  he  put  in.  "  How  did  they  know  he  was  the 
man  who  had  escaped  on  the  horse  ? " 

"By  'is  clothes,  in  course,"  said  the  woman,  "and 
by  the  descriptions  as  was  sent  everywhere." 

"  But  you  say  the  ship  has  brought  him  to 
London  ? " 

"Yes.  'E  was  picked  up  in  a  small  boat,  far  hout 
to  sea,  a-trying  for  to  make  the  French  coast.  The 


THE   ROAD    TO  IRAKIS. 

ship's  captain,  having  put  out  of  Plymouth  on  a  long 
voyage, — for  this  'appened  last  February,  —  "ad  no 
mind  to  turn  back,  and  so  he  took  the  fellow  all  the 
way  to  the  Barbados,  and  then  brought  him  'ome  to 
London.  So  now  he  lies  at  St.  Catherine's,  on  ship 
board,  while  the  Government  is  making  up  its  mind 
what  to  do  with  'im." 

And  thus  had  fate  treated  Edward  Lawson,  other 
wise  Captain  Ted,  Dick's  whimsical  gentleman  of 
Taunton  !  To  think  that  a  fugitive,  in  exchanging 
himself  out  of  an  incriminating  suit  of  clothes  to 
avoid  detection,  should  exchange  himself  into  the 
clothes  of  another  fugitive,  and  be  caught  as  the  latter  ! 
Dick  laughed  to  himself,  even  as  he  went  to  beg  a 
turnkey  to  inform  the  governor  that  he,  Dick,  had  an 
important  disclosure  to  make. 

The  turnkey  carried  the  message,  for  a  considera 
tion,  and  Dick  was  summoned  to  the  governor's 
room,  where  it  was  finally  got  into  the  head  of  that 
functionary  that  Dick  claimed  to  be  the  American 
prisoner  for  whom  the  other  man  had  been  taken. 
Dick  was  sent  back  to  his  court,  with  no  satisfaction ; 
but  the  next  day  he  was  led  again  into  the  governor's 
room,  and  confronted  with  the  whimsical  gentleman 
himself,  who  looked  decidedly  the  worse  for  wear. 
It  appeared  that  the  highwayman  was  glad  to  be 
known,  even  in  his  true  colors,  rather  than  as  a  rebel 
prisoner  who  might  be  charged  with  treason. 


"FAIR  STOOD    THE    WIND   FOR   FRANCE."    357 

The  two  were  taken  by  hackney  coach  to  Bow 
Street,  and  there  the  whimsical  gentleman,  much  to 
his  relief,  was  identified  as  Captain  Ted,  by  the 
very  ladies  who  had  identified  Dick  as  the  same 
person,  Justice  Fielding  subsequently  observing  that 
the  resemblance  between  the  two  men  was  so  great 
as  to  leave  no  ground  for  a  charge  of  perjury  against 
the  identifiers.  Captain  Ted  was  then '  promptly 
committed  to  Newgate,  on  the  evidence  of  the 
woman  who  had  first  laid  information  against  him. 
With  a  friendly  smile  and  courteous  bow  to  Dick,  he 
was  led  away. 

And  now  Dick,  relieved  of  the  oft-recurring  Tyburn 
vision,  was  to  learn  what  disposition  was  to  be  made 
of  himself.  Standing  out  from  the  prisoners'  pen, 
and  in  the  vacant  space  before  the  magistrate's 
table,  he  was  addressed  at  some  length  by  Sir  John 
Fielding.  It  appeared  that  his  story,  as  related  to 
the  governor  of  Newgate  the  previous  day,  having 
tallied  with  certain  statements  made  by  the  other 
prisoner,  had  been  considered  by  no  less  a  personage 
than  the  Secretary  of  State.  If  he  was  one  of  the 
American  prisoners  who  had  been  confined  at  Pen- 
dennis  Castle,  the  justice  said,  his  treatment  ordina 
rily  would  have  been  the  same  as  theirs,  —  that  is  to 
say,  he  would  have  been  taken  aboard  the  Solebay 
frigate  on  the  8th  of  January,  and  sent  back  to 
America  as  a  prisoner  of  war,  subject  to  exchange 


THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

(this  was  Dick's  first  intimation  of  what  had  befallen 
Allen  and  the  others).  But  he  had  broken  from 
custody  while  he  still  regarded  it  as  likely  that  he 
would  be  proceeded  against  for  high  treason,  and  he 
was  therefore  to  be  considered  as  having  admitted 
his  guilt  of  high  treason.  However,  it  was  the  desire 
of  the  King  to  exhibit  great  clemency  to  his  rebel 
lious  American  subjects,  even  in  the  most  aggravated 
cases ;  hence  the  justice-  dared  presume  that  the 
Crown  would  not  move  against  the  prisoner  on 
the  charge  of  treason  (Dick  afterward  guessed  that 
the  real  reason  for  this  self-denial  on  the  Crown's 
part  lay  in  the  difficulty  and  expense  of  getting  wit 
nesses  to  the  alleged  treason).  The  prisoner  had, 
however,  been  shown  to  have  sold  a  stolen  suit  of 
clothes  ;  he  ought  to  have  known,  by  the  circum 
stances  in  which  he  had  acquired  the  clothes,  even 
if  those  circumstances  were  as  he  alleged,  that  the 
clothes  had  been  stolen  ;  his  not  so  knowing  was  a 
fault,  yet  was  the  fault  of  no  one  other  than  him, 
hence  must  be  his  fault.  •  The  justice  was,  there 
fore,  compelled,  on  information  sworn  by  the  Mon- 
mouth  Street  dealer  and  by  Mr.  Charteris's  servant, 
to  commit  the  prisoner  for  trial  on  this  new 
charge. 

So  back  to  Newgate  went  Dick,  wondering  whether 
matters  were  improved,  after  all.  At  the  September 
sessions  he  was  haled,  upon  indictment,  before  the 


"FAIR  STOOD    THE    WIND   FOR  FRANCE:''    359 

bewigged  judges  and  the  stolid  jury  in  the  Old 
Bailey  ;  pleaded  not  guilty,  was  tried  with  great  expe 
dition,  convicted  without  delay,  and  sentenced  (at 
the  end  of  a  solemn  speech  in  which  he  thought  at 
first  the  judge  was  driving  at  nothing  less  than  death 
by  hanging  with  the  next  Tyburn  batch)  to  hard 
labor  for  three  years  on  the  river  Thames.  It  ap 
peared  that  the  prisoner's  general  honesty,  to  which 
his  George  Street  landlady's  son  voluntarily  testified, 
influenced  the  judge  against  a  capital  sentence. 
Well,  what  is  three  years'  hard  labor  to  a  man  who 
has  seriously  contemplated  a  gibbet  for  several  weeks 
past  ? 

The  vessel  on  which  Dick  found  himself,  in  con 
sequence  of  this  manifestation  of  British  justice,— 
which  in  those  benighted  days  was  almost  as  danger 
ous  for  an  honest  man  to  come  in  contact  with  as 
New  York  City  justice  is  to-day,  —  resembled  an 
ordinary  lighter,  though  of  broader  gunwale  on  the 
larboard  side.  A  floor  about  three  feet  wide  ran 
along  the  starboard  side,  for  the  men  to  work  on, 
and  their  duty  was  to  raise  ballast,  of  which  the  ves 
sel's  capacity  was  twenty-seven  tons,  by  means  of 
windlass  and  davits.  The  convicts  slept  aft,  where 
the  vessel  was  decked  in,  and  the  overseer  had  a 
cabin  in  the  forecastle. 

The  men  were  chained  together  in  pairs,  and  Dick, 
to  his  surprise,  recognized  his  own  comrade  as  none 


360  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

other  than  the  body-snatcher  through  whom  he  had 
accidentally  come  to  try  his  card  tricks  in  London 
taverns.  This  amiable  person  had  been  caught  while 
conveying  a  pauper's  body,  wrapped  in  a  sack,  by 
hackney  coach,  from  Shoreditch  to  St.  George's 
hospital,  for  the  use  of  surgeons.  He  belonged  to  a 
gang  that  worked  for  the  Resurrectionist,  an  inhab 
itant  of  the  Borough,  who  was  a  famous  trader  to 
the  surgeons. 

Dick  had  to  work  all  day,  and  to  eat  nothing  but 
ox-cheek,  legs  and  shins  of  beef,  and  equally  coarse 
food  ;  to  drink  only  water  or  small  beer,  and  to  wear 
a  mean  uniform,  which,  as  autumn  wore  into  winter, 
ill  protected  him  from  the  cold.  Yet  the  hard  work 
kept  his  blood  going  by  day,  gave  him  appetite  for 
the  food,  and  made  sleep  a  pleasure.  The  fatigues 
of  the  day  left  the  convicts  no  inclination  to  talk  at 
night.  One  day  was  like  another,  and  the  monotony 
of  uninteresting  toil  was  endurable  only  for  the  pros 
pect  of  freedom  at  the  end  of  the  three  years.  Dick 
had  no  mind  to  attempt  an  escape,  for  on  receiving 
sentence  he  had  been  told  that  his  term  might  be 
abridged  for  good  behavior,  that  it  would  certainly 
be  doubled  on  a  first  attempt  to  escape,  and  that  on  a 
such  second  attempt  he  would  be  liable  to  suffer  death. 
So  when,  in  the  fifth  month  of  his  durance,  he  was 
awakened  one  night  by  the.  grave-robber,  and  a 
general  plot  to  break  away  was  cautiously  broached 


"FAIR  STOOD    THE    WIND   FOR   FRANCE."    361 

to  him,  he  resolutely  refused  to  take  part  or  to 
hear  more,  and  went  to  sleep  again.  He  observed, 
the  next  few  days,  that  he  was  narrowly  watched 
by  the  other  convicts,  who  doubtless  feared  he 
might  inform  the  overseer ;  but  he  had  no  such 
intention. 

One  night  in  February,  —  it  was  between  Sunday 
and  Monday,  —  when  the  vessel  was  moored  off 
Woolwich,  Dick  was  violently  awakened  by  a  kind 
of  tugging  at  his  leg.  Throwing  out  his  hand  in 
the  darkness  to  investigate,  he  heard  a  threatening 
whisper,  "  If  you  move  or  call  out,  I'll  blow  your 
head  off  with  this  pistol !  Bill  the  Blacksmith  is 
taking  off  our  irons.  You  can  join  us  if  you  like,  or 
you  can  stay  here,  but  you'll  keep  quiet ! " 

The  voice  was  that  of  the  body-stealer,  to  whom 
Dick  was  chained.  In  releasing  the  former,  the 
Blacksmith,  working  in  the  darkness,  had  necessarily 
disturbed  the  chain  attached  to  Dick.  Bill  the 
Blacksmith  was  a  person  unknown  to  Dick.  As 
afterward  appeared,  he  was  one  of  a  rescue  party 
that  had  come  on  this  dark  night  to  free  those  pris 
oners  who  were  in  the  plot.  Some  of  the  party  had 
got  aboard,  crawled  unseen  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
guards,  reached  the  sleeping-place  of  the  convicts, 
supplied  some  of  these  with  weapons,  and  were  now 
at  work  removing  their  irons. 

Dick    lay   perfectly    still.      Presently    the   grave- 


362  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

robber  stood  up,  unshackled.  The  chain  was  still 
fastened  to  Dick's  leg. 

"Well,"  whispered  the  grave-robber,  "will  you 
stay  as  you  are,  or  will  you  join  us  ? " 

To  be  shortly  free  of  the  chafing  fetters,  able  to 
use  his  whole  body  in  a  dash  for  liberty ;  to  seize 
now  what  would  not  be  offered  to  him* for  two 
long  and  miserable  years  !  The  temptation  was  too 
strong.  "  I'll  join,"  whispered  Dick. 

"This  one,  too,  Bill,"  said  the  grave-robber,  and 
the  Blacksmith  went  to  work  on  Dick's  fetters. 

Other  skilful  hands  were  employed  at  the  same 
time  on  the  shackles  of  other  convicts.  The  opera 
tions  went  on  in  the  utmost  silence.  Now  and  then, 
at  some  sound  from  without,  they  would  stop  for  a 
while.  It  was  only  after  he  had  been  awake  some 
time,  that  Dick  could  distinguish  the  dark  forms  of 
the  artisans  working  over  the  prostrate  forms  of  the 
prisoners.  Never  had  he  seen  such  a  combination 
of  skill,  patience,  persistence,  and  noiselessness.  Pick 
locks,  burglars,  jail-breakers,  all,  exercising  their 
abilities  this  time  to  free  their  comrades,  were  the 
men  at  work ;  yet  Dick  could  not  but  admire 
the  manner  in  which  they  went  about  their  busi 
ness.  Doubtless  there  was  a  large  reward  to  be 
earned,  perhaps  from  some  employer  of  certain  of 
these  convicts,  —  some  such  great  man  as  the  Resur 
rectionist,  of  the  Borough,  or  as  Gipsy  George, 


"FA/A1   STOOD    THE    WIND  FOR   FRANCE."    363 

leader  of  smugglers ;  for  any  one  of  these  res 
cuers  would  as  soon  turn  King's  evidence  against  a 
comrade  as  liberate  him. 

At  last  all  irons  were  off.  Instantly,  with  the 
grave-robber  at  the  head,  there  was  a  general  rush 
to  the  platform  on  which  the  men  worked.  The 
surprised  guards  were  either  shot  at,  struck,  intimi 
dated,  or  swept  into  the  hold,  by  the  advancing 
convicts.  The  latter  scrambled  over  the  vessel's 
side,  some  dropping  into  a  boat  that  suddenly 
unmasked  two  lanterns.  Another  boat,  also  belong 
ing  to  the  rescue  party,  now  showed  a  light  a  little 
farther  off.  For  this  boat  Dick  swam,  with  many 
others  who  had  plunged  at  once  into  the  water,  and 
presently  he  was  hauled  aboard  like  a  hooked  shark. 

Some  of  the  convicts,  as  if  fearing  there  would  not 
be  room  for  them  on  the  boats,  struck  out  for  the 
shore.  Dick  never  knew  what  became  of  them,  or 
of  those  who  crowded  into  the  first  boat.  The  craft 
in  which  he  found  himself  was  speedily  filled,  where 
upon  the  men  at  the  oars,  aided  by  convicts  who  had 
found  other  oars  waiting,  pulled  rapidly  down  the 
river,  the  boat's  lantern  again  being  darkened.  By 
this  time  those  in  charge  of  the  convict  vessel  had 
recovered  their  senses  and  begun  firing  shots  of 
alarm.  Dick  made  up  his  mind  to  get  away  from 
his  villainous  company  at  the  first  opportunity. 

Presently  the  men  at  the  oars  were  relieved  by 


364  THE   ROAD    TO  PAKIS. 

another  force,  which  included  Dick.  Thus,  aided  by 
the  river's  current,  and  thanks  to  their  system  of 
alternating  at  the  oars,  as  well  as  to  the  strength 
derived  from  fear  of  recapture,  the  desperate  crew 
made  incredible  speed.  As  dawn  began  to  show 
itself,  Dick  saw,  on  the  southern  bank  of  the 
Thames,  a  considerable  town  against  a  hillside, 
environed  by  meadows  and  fields,  pleasure  grounds 
and  country-seats.  A  high  hill  near  by  was  crowned 
by  a  windmill.  Vessels  of  every  size  lay  in  the 
harbor.  Dick  learned  from  the  talk  in  the  boat  that 
this  was  Gravesend. 

The  men  rowed  straight  for  a  certain  sloop,  which, 
it  appeared  from  their  conversation,  was  engaged  in 
the  business  of  conveying  stolen  horses  to  Dunkirk 
and  other  Continental  ports.  Dick  inwardly  deter 
mined  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  this  rascal  boat's 
crew  no  longer.  Once  alongside  the  sloop,  the 
convicts  proceeded  to  board  it,  each  man  for  him 
self.  The  stern  of  the  boat  drifted  several  feet  away 
from  the  sloop.  Dick,  pretending  he  would  leap 
in  his  turn,  across  the  intervening  space,  pur 
posely  missed  hold  of  the  sloop,  and  sank  into  the 
water.  Diving  some  distance,  he  came  up  at  a  spot 
far  from  where  the  attention  of  his  erstwhile  com 
rades  was  directed.  He  then  struck  out  for  the 
outskirts  of  Gravesend,  and  landed  a  little  east  of 
the  town,  in  the  gray  of  the  morning. 


"  FAIR   STOOD    THE    WIND   FOR   FRANCE."    365 

Skirting  the  town,  and  passing  only  bare  vegeta 
ble  gardens  and  fishermen's  houses,  he  reached  the 
Dover  road,  and  walked  on  four  miles  to  Gad's  Hill, 
where  Sir  John  Falstaff  had  played  valorous  pranks. 
Three  miles  more  of  walking  brought  him  to  Roches 
ter,  with  its  twelfth  century  Cathedral,  and  its  ruined 
Norman  Castle  aloft  by  the  Medway.  A  sailor's 
wife,  living  in  a  small  house  in  a  squalid  part  of  the 
town,  gave  him  a  breakfast  of  porridge,  while  he 
dried  his  clothes  at  her  fire. 

Knowing  he  might  be  detected  by  his  uniform,  and 
finding  the  woman  good-hearted,  Dick  offered  to  ex 
change  the  suit  he  had  on  for  some  worn-out  raiment 
of  her  husband's,  saying  that  the  cloth  of  his  gar 
ments  might  be  made  over  into  clothes  for  her  little 
son.  This  exchange  being  made  in  the  woman's 
parlor  while  she  was  at  work  in  the  kitchen,  Dick 
proceeded  on  his  way.  At  Sittingbourne,  ten  miles 
farther  southeast,  he  stopped  at  a  villager's  house, 
on  pretence  of  asking  the  road,  and  received  a  glass 
of  milk  and  an  egg,  which  he  ate  raw.  Thus  re 
freshed,  he  trudged  on  seven  miles,  to  Ospringe,  where 
he  passed  the  night  under  a  sheep-skin,  in  a  cart-house. 

The  next  morning  (Tuesday),  breakfasting  on  a 
pot  of  ale  given  him  by  an  oysterman  of  Faversham, 
Dick  went  on  to  Canterbury,  where,  procuring  a  pack 
of  cards  from  an  hostler  of  an  inn  in  High  Street,  he 
fell  back  on  his  card  tricks  for  a  living,  though  now 


366  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

with  great  aversion.  He  risked  wearing  out  his  wel 
come  at  the  Canterbury  inns  and  tap-rooms,  for  that 
he  so  much  liked  the  town  ;  and  it  was  reluctantly 
that,  on  Saturday  morning,  he  left  the  old  Cathedral 
behind,  and  set  his  face  southeastward.  Passing  the 
Gothic  towers  of  Lee  Priory,  he  plodded  on,  mile  after 
mile,  hour  after  hour,  over  downs  and  through  vil 
lages,  till  he  .stood  at  last  on  the  hills  at  whose  feet, 
before  him,  lay  the  town  and  the  harbor  of  Dover, 
and  from  whose  top,  near  the  old  castle  supposed  to 
have  been  founded  by  Julius  Caesar,  could  be  seen, 
beyond  the  ruffled  waves  of  the  Channel,  the  distant 
coast  of  France. 

Tired  and  hungry,  Dick  descended  from  the  cliff 
and  proceeded  along  narrow  Snaregate  Street  to  a 
straggling  suburb  of  low-built  houses  inhabited  by 
sailors  and  fishermen.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon, 
when  he  entered  a  small  tippling-house,  where  were 
a  number  of  seafarers  boisterously  talking,  and  called 
at  the  bar  for  a  glass  of  rum.  While  drinking,  he 
asked  the  barman  how  one  might  go  to  France  more 
cheaply  than  by  the  regular  packet.  He  was  imme 
diately  referred  to  one  of  the  fellows  drinking  at  a 
small  table  in  the  room.  Thus  introduced  to  this 
person,  who  was  a  stalwart,  sea-browned  man  of  fifty, 
Dick  ingratiated  himself  into  his  liking,  drank  with 
him,  and  presently  began  his  usual  procedure  with 
the  cards. 


"FAIR   STOOD    THE    WIND   FOR   FRANCE."    367 

As  invariably  happened,  certain  of  his  spectators 
offered  Dick  small  sums  to  show  them  how  one  or 
other  of  his  most  puzzling  tricks  were  done.  As 
always,  Dick  refused.  But  his  first  acquaintance, 
under  a  curiosity  to  which  Dick  had  adroitly  minis 
tered,  persisted  hard  in  begging  to  know  the  secret  of 
a  certain  sleight.  Dick  finally  replied  : 

"  I  shall  tell  you  on  the  other  side  of  the  Chan 
nel." 

"  T'other  side  of  the  Channel  ? "  repeated  the  sea 
farer.  "  When  shall  I  see  you  there,  man  ? " 

"  When  you  shall  have  taken  me  there  in  your 
fishing-smack." 

"  So  'tis  settled  I'm  to  take  you  ?     But  the  pay  ? " 

"  Good  Lord  !  If  I  show  you  my  card  trick,  isn't 
that  pay  ?  I  call  a  miserable  passage  across  the 
Channel  a  mighty  cheap  price  for  one  of  my  secrets. 
But  if  you  will  haggle,  you  shall  have  all  my  money 
into  the  bargain,  —  one  shilling,  and  one  sixpence. 
Well,  well,  so  you  don't  want  to  learn  the  trick  ? 
Good  evening,  then  !  " 

"Oh,  hold  !  I  didn't  say  no.  I  don't  haggle.  I'll 
take  you,  lad,  to-morrow  night,  —  when  I  go  a-fish- 
ing." 

If  Dick  thought  it  strange  to  go  fishing  by  night, 
particularly  Sunday  night,  he  kept  his  thoughts  to 
himself.  He  had  heard  tales  of  the  fisherfolk  and 
Other  worthy  people  of  the  coast  towns,  and  was  pre- 


368  THE  ROAD    TO   PARTS. 

pared  to  be  blind  to  certain  signs.  As  for  the  readi 
ness  with  which  the  seafarers  in  the  ale-house  let 
him  come  among  them,  his  own  appearance  of 
poverty  had  quickly  served  to  establish  a  fellowship. 
His  winning,  yet  confident,  manner  prevented  his 
being  despised  for  the  poverty  he  showed.  More 
over,  his  desire  to  cross  the  Channel  indicated,  in  a 
person  of  his  attire,  such  motives  for  absence  from 
England  as  these  men  were  of  a  class  to  sympathize 
with.  They  knew  at  first  glance  that  he  had  no  pur 
pose  inimical  to  them,  so  keen  was  their  scent  for  a 
government  spy  in  any  disguise.  In  fine,  Dick  had 
the  gift  of  adapting  his  demeanor  to  the  society  of  a 
Lord  or  of  a  cutthroat,  and  easily  made  himself 
received  without  distrust  by  these  wary  folk  who 
fished  by  night. 

On  Saturday  night,  that  of  his  arrival  at  this  hum 
ble  suburb  of  Dover,  he  slept  in  a  corner  of  the 
fisherman's  loft.  All  the  next  day,  he  lay  quiet  in 
doors,  sharing  the  Sunday  life  of  the  fisherman's 
family,  which  included  a  wife  and  two  huge,  awkward 
sons,  respectively  sixteen  and  eighteen  years  old. 
At  night,  preceded  by  these  sons,  the  fisherman  led 
Dick  some  distance  from  the  town,  to  a  cove,  where 
lay  the  smack.  An  unknown  man  was  already 
aboard,  adjusting  sail.  The  four  immediately  joined 
him,  Dick  bestowing  himself  in  the  stern  while  the 
fisherman  and  his  sons  assisted  the  unknown  at  the 


"FAIR  STOOD  THE  WIND  FOR  FRANCE."  369 

ropes.  Few,  short,  and  low  were  the  words  spoken, 
and  very  soon  the  little  craft  glided  out  from  shore, 
upon  the  easy  swell  of  the  Channel.  The  night  was 
lit  by  stars  only,  the  wind  was  fair,  and  the  heave  of 
the  sea  was  not  violent. 

Dick  noticed  that  his  skipper  kept  a  very  keen 
lookout,  seeming  to  search  the  sea  ahead  for  some 
particular  object.  He  wondered  how  soon  these 
nocturnal  fishermen  would  begin  to  cast  lines,  and 
what  sort  of  fish  they  would  be  catching  at  this 
season.  But  presently  he  drew  in  all  his  thoughts 
to  his  own  affairs,  for  he  had  become  unmistakably 
seasick.  Busy  for  a  long  while  in  seeking  relief,  his 
head  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  he  gave  no  heed  to 
the  doings  or  words  of  the  crew. 

He  was,  in  time,  vaguely  aware  of  a  hail  from 
another  vessel ;  of  the  fact  that  this  vessel  loomed 
into  close  view ;  that  his  own  boat  lay  to  alongside  of 
it ;  that  the  two  crews  conversed  in  mixed  French 
and  English  ;  that  sundry  bales,  kegs,  ankers,  and 
two  or  three  barrels,  were  lowered  from  the  other 
vessel  into  the  boat,  and  then  that  he  was  shaken  at 
the  shoulder  by  his  conductor,  who  said,  "  Come 
aboard  the  lugger,  lad,  and  make  haste !  " 

Surprised  but  unquestioning,  Dick  staggered  after 
the  fisherman  and  clambered  from  the  boat's  gun 
wale,  with  the  crew's  help,  to  the  other  vessel. 
Just  as  the  fisherman  was  about  to  follow,  one  of  his 


370  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

sons  gave  a  low  cry.  The  fisherman  uttered  a  curse, 
and  leaped  to  his  rudder,  while  the  son  who  had 
called  out  seized  a  rope  and  began  vigorously  making 
sail.  At  the  same  moment  a  man  on  the  lugger 
instantly  released  the  line  by  which  the  Dover 
smack  had  been  kept  alongside,  and  there  was  a 
general  noise  of  ropes,  blocks,  and  canvas,  in  quick 
movement.  Before  Dick  knew  what  was  the  matter 
the  two  vessels  had  parted  company,  and  the  lights 
of  a  third  appeared,  from  which  came  a  sharp, 
mandatory  hail.  This,  being  unanswered,  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  flash  and  a  boom  and  a  splashing  up  of 
water,  —  the  last  in  the  wake  of  the  boat  from  Dover. 
That  craft  showing  its  heels  in  fine  fashion,  and 
Dick's  vessel  also  making  speed,  the  former  was 
soon  out  of  sight.  The  revenue  cutter,  for  such  was 
the  intruder  whose  advent  had  caused  the  two 
smuggling  vessels  to  part  so  suddenly,  chose  to 
pursue  the  English  boat,  so  that  the  French  lugger 
to  which  Dick  had  been  transferred  went  its  way 
unhindered. 

Dick  turned  with  an  inquiring  look  to  the  man 
who  seemed  in  command  of  the  lugger.  The  latter, 
evidently  supposing  that  Dick's  solicitude  was  in 
regard  to  the  Dover  smack,  said  in  French,  "  Have 
no  fear,  my  brother.  Your  comrades  will  carry  their 
fish  safe  home.  Their  King's  vessels  waste  time 
and  powder  chasing  them,  Mon  Dieti,  the  bottom 


"•FAIR   STOOD    THE    WIND   FOR   FRANCE." 

of  the  ocean  must  be  paved  with  the  cannon-shot 
the  revenue  vessels  have  sent  after  the  night  fisher 
men  in  vain  ! " 

Dick,  from  his  long  association  with  the  French 
teacher  in  Newgate,  could  grasp  the  meaning  of  this 
speech  after  a  few  moments.  He  knew  from  the 
words  and  manner  that  the  Frenchman  understood 
him  to  be  on  a  good  understanding  with  the  Dover 
fishermen,  and  would  treat  him  as  one  who  deserved 
well  of  the  vast  fraternity  of  Channel  smugglers.  It 
was  comforting  to  know  that  his  way  had  thus  been 
made  smooth  by  the  Dover  man  when  the  latter  had 
bespoken  Dick's  passage,  for  the  French  smuggler 
was  as  villainous-looking  a  rascal  as  Dick  had  seen 
in  Newgate,  and,  had  Dick  come  to  him  without 
proper  introduction,  would  doubtless  have  been  as 
ready  with  a  hostile  knife  or  belaying-pin  as  he  now 
was  with  deference  and  amiability.  Dick  found, 
without  directly  asking,  that  the  lugger  was  bound 
for  Boulogne.  ' 

It  was  that  darkest  hour  which  precedes  the  dawn, 
when  the  vessel  anchored  some  distance  off  that 
port.  The  skipper  and  one  of  the  crew  rowed  ashore 
with  Dick  in  a  small  boat,  getting  out  in  the  surf, 
and  dragging  the  boat  after  them  while  they  waded 
to  dry  beach.  They  were  now  on  the  sands  near  the 
town.  The  captain  took  polite  leave  of  Dick,  point 
ing  out  the  most  convenient  way  to  go,  and  adding, 


372  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

with  a  grin,  that,  as  this  road  was  not  obstructed  by 
custom-house  officers,  Dick  would  undergo  no  delay 
over  his  baggage.  Nothing  was  said  about  passage 
money.  The  Dover  skipper  had  evidently  provided 
for  Dick's  transportation,  which  was  doubtless  a 
matter  of  reciprocal  favor  between  the  English  and 
the  French  smugglers.  Dick  was  sorry  the  Dover 
man  had  been  disappointed,  by  the  interference  of 
the  revenue  cutter,  of  the  intended  trip  to  the  French 
coast  and  of  the  proposed  payment  for  Dick's  passage. 
"I'll  show  him  the  card  trick  if  ever  we  meet  again," 
thought  Dick,  as  he  walked  towards  the  town  and 
realized  that  he  was  on  French  ground;  "but,  if  we 
never  meet,  it  isn't  my  fault  he  was  left  behind." 

Dick  entered  Boulogne  with  two  sailors  whom  he 
happened  to  overtake,  and  to  whom  he  contrived  to 
make  known  in  French  his  desire  of  learning  the 
nearest  way  to  a  public  house.  They  led  him  to 
the  upper  town  and  to  the  cabaret  for  which  they 
were  bound.  His  pockets  and  stomach  were  alike 
empty,  and  his  teeth  were  chattering  from  the  cold. 
He  was  goaded  by  his  condition  to  immediate  effort. 

As  soon  as  he  entered  the  kitchen,  where  the 
sailors  promptly  sat  down  to  bread  and  butter  and 
brandy,  Dick  proposed  he  should  share  free  their 
loaf,  their  firkin,  and  their  keg,  on  condition  that 
any  card  they  might  name  should  be  found  on  the 
top  of  the  pack  he  now  held  face  downward  before 


"FAIR   STOOD    THE    WIND   FOR  FRANCE."    373 

him.  If  the  top  card  should  be  any  other,  he  should 
pay  for  their  breakfast.  Of  course  they  jumped  at 
the  proposition,  and  of  course  the  top  card  was  the 
one  they  had  named. 

An  hour  later,  filled  with  bread  and  butter, 
warmed  inside  by  the  brandy  and  outside  by  the 
kitchen  fire,  Dick  went  forth  with  some  thought  of 
soliciting  employment  from  one  of  the  several  British 
merchants  who,  as  he  had  learned  at  breakfast,  dwelt 
in  Boulogne. 

In  the  streets,  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly 
transported  to  a  new  world.  The  one  night's  trip 
across  the  Channel,  between  coasts  in  sight  of  each 
other,  had  wrought  a  greater  transformation  in  his 
surroundings  than  the  five  weeks'  voyage  across  the 
Atlantic  had  produced.  The  spareness,  alertness, 
fussiness,  and  excessive  politeness  of  the  people  was 
as  great  a  contrast  to  the  characteristics  of  the  rubi 
cund  Britons  he  had  been  among  a  day  ago,  as  he 
could  have  imagined.  The  jabbering  of  the  people, 
though,  was  not  entirely  strange  to  his  ears  ;  he  had 
heard  its  like  from  the  habitant  of  Canada.  Nor 
was  the  ubiquity  of  soldiers  and  priests  new  to  eyes 
that  had  seen  Quebec  and  its  environs.  Yet  the 
tall,  straight,  carefully  powdered  French  soldiers 
that  he  saw  as  he  walked  near  the  fortifications, 
little  resembled  the  stout,  well-fed  English  troops 
he  had  faced  at  Bunker  Hill. 


374  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Now  and  then  he  could  recognize  in  the  crowd,  at 
a  glance,  some  round,  red,  contented-looking  English 
face ;  and,  when  two  of  these  passed  together,  it  was 
a  pleasure  to  Dick  to  hear  the  English  words  that 
fell  from  either  mouth. 

As  he  was  approaching  one  of  the  best  hotels  of 
the  place,  Dick  got  a  rear  view  of  a  gentleman  stand 
ing  before  it,  from  whose  broad  back  and  solid- 
looking  legs  Dick  would  have  sworn  him  to  be  an 
Englishman.  Dick  observed  that  this  gentleman 
was  looking  at  a  pretty  girl  at  an  upper  window 
of  a  house  across  the  street.  Himself  gazing  at 
the  same  object,  he  bumped  heavily  against  the 
gentleman  in  passing. 

"Damme,"  cried  the  gentleman,  in  a  robust  voice, 
"  must  you  frog-eaters  be  always  tumbling  over  peo 
ple,  because  you  have  no  footways  in  your  cursed 
streets  ?  "  And  he  glared  indignantly  into  the  face 
of  Dick,  who  had  stopped  and  was  inspecting  him. 

"  I  don't  happen  to  be  a  Frenchman,  and  I  agree 
with  you  in  cursing  the  lack  of  footways,"  said  Dick. 
"How  have  you  fared  since  we  met  —  and  parted  — 
at  the  Pelican  at  Newbury,  Sir  Hilary  ? " 

"  Eh  ?  Sir  Hilary  ?  Pelican  ?  Why,  who  the 
devil —  By  the  lord,  'tis  the  gentleman  that  of 
fered  to  pay  the  landlord,  so  we  might  all  get 
away  betimes  !  Welcome,  sir !  By  your  looks,  I 
can  guess  you're  like  some  others  of  us  on  this 


"FAIR  STOOD    TH£    WIND  FOR  FRANCE."    37$ 

side  the  Channel,  —  you've  had  your  own  reasons 
to  try  the  air  of  France !  Well,  by  George,  you 
shall  keep  me  company  awhile !  You  shall  come 
in,  and  break  a  bottle  with  me,  sir,  —  half  a  dozen 
bottles,  damme !  And  after  that  you  shall  be  my 
guest.  Come  in !  I  won't  hear  you  say  no  !  God 
save  the  "King,  and  huzza,  for  old  England  !  " 

And,  having  capped  these  patriotic  exclamations 
with  a  defiant  look  around  at  the  French  passers-by, 
the  exiled  Berkshire  fox-hunter  caught  hold  of  Dick, 
who  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  saying  no,  and 
hustled  him  cordially  into  the  inn. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

AN    ELOPEMENT    FROM    A    DILIGENCE. 

IT  came  out,  over  the  Burgundy,  that  Sir  Hilary 
passed  most  of  his  time  in  Paris,  but  often  repaired 
to  Calais  or  Boulogne  to  be  for  the  while  nearer 
England.  He  still  remained  from  his  own  country 
because  he  dreaded  being  called  on  by  the  law  for 
an  account  of  the  killing  of  Mr.  Bullcott,  —  not  that 
he  feared  the  outcome  as  to  his  bodily  safety,  but 
that  such  legal  proceedings  might  bring  out  the 
name  of  his  sister,  and  provide  the  Town  and 
Country  Magazine  with  a  characteristic  narrative,  in 
which  every  one  concerned  should  figure,  the  vowels 
in  each  name  supplanted  by  dashes.  Bold  as  he 
was  in  many  things,  the  fox-hunter  was  timid  as  to 
that  sort  of  celebrity. 

But  the  non-existence  of  any  one  who  would 
desire  to  see  Squire  Bullcott's  removal  avenged, 
promised  eventual  safety  for  Sir  Hilary's  person ; 
and  the  general  forgetfulness  of  things  past  would 
in  time  enable  him  to  return  home  without  risk  of 
reviving  interest  in  the  affair  at  the  Pelican,  although 

376 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A    DILIGENCE.       3/7 

he  was  forever  officially  branded  by  the  coroner's 
verdict  as  having  caused  the  death  of  Bullcott  under 
circumstances  to  be  further  determined. 

And  now,  at  the  fourth  bottle,  Sir  Hilary  insisted 
on  repaying  Mr.  Wetheral,  with  interest,  for  having 
silenced  the  landlord  of  the  Pelican.  It  seemed  that 
Sir  Hilary  received  plenty  of  money  from  his  estate, 
and,  being  given  to  amusements  of  the  country, 
knew  not  how  to  spend  it  on  the  pleasures  of  Paris. 
He  required  that  Dick  should  go  along  immediately 
to  a  tailor's,  and  fit  himself  out  handsomely,  and  Dick, 
seeing  how  much  gratification  the  Englishman  really 
took  in  this  kind  of  generosity,  made  no  protest. 
Nor  did  he  object  when  the  bountiful  Berkshire  bar 
onet  thrust  upon  him  a  well-filled  purse.  In  those 
days,  gentlemen  had  not  the  petty  vanity  of  refusing 
to  put  themselves  under  obligations  to  one  another. 
Without  any  affectation  of  pride,  they  readily  ac 
cepted  favors  which  they  knew  they  would  as  readily 
bestow  were  conditions  reversed. 

So  Dick  remained  Sir  Hilary's  guest  at  the  hotel 
that  day  and  night,  and  the  next  morning  they  took 
post-horses  and  rode  to  Samers,  Sir  Hilary's  inten 
tion  being  to  proceed  in  a  leisurely  way,  seeing  as 
much  country  and  drinking  as  much  wine  as  they 
could,  to  Paris.  As  for  Dick,  recalling  that  memo 
rable  afternoon's  journey  of  his  childhood,  he  con 
sidered  now  that  the  words  of  old  Tom  MacAlister 


3/8  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

had  been  those  of  an  oracle,  and  that  fate  designed 
his  road  to  lead  to  Paris,  whatever  plans  he  might 
make  for  himself. 

Moreover,  a  definite  purpose  now  formed  in  his 
mind,  which  purpose  of  itself  called  him  Parisward. 
In  the  auberge  at  Samers,  where  Sir  Hilary  pro 
longed  their  stop  to  try  thoroughly  the  wine  of  the 
country,  Dick  overheard  a  conversation  between  a 
voluble  petit  maitre  and  a  short-gowned  Capuchin 
monk,  in  which  the  name  of  Washington  instantly 
caught  his  ear.  He  soon  found  that  the  talk  was  on 
the  American  war,  and  that  the  talkers  sympathized 
with  the  Americans.  He  learned  that  a  recent  dar 
ing  blow  struck  by  Washington  at  Trenton,  and 
another  victory,  won  at  Princeton,  had  offset  the 
effect  of  the  British  occupation  of  New  York  and 
the  British  victories  connected  therewith.  He 
learned,  too,  that  Franklin,  a  name  spoken  with  as 
great  honor  at  this  little  French  inn  as  at  home,  had 
come  to  France  as  an  agent  of  the  Americans,  and 
was  now  with  his  fellow  agent,  Mr.  Silas  Deane,  at 
the  Hotel  d'Hambourg,  in  the  Rue  1'Universite,  in 
Paris.  This  news,  at  which  Dick  glowed  inwardly, 
gave  him  the  idea  of  offering  his  services  to  Frank 
lin,  to  be  used  in  any  way  and  in  any  place 
proposable. 

That  same  day  the  fellow  travellers  rode  on,  over 
the  undulating  country  of  the  Boulonnois,  by  woods 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A   DILIGENCE.       379 

and  streams,  to  Montreuil,  where  they  had  to  give 
their  names  to  a  polite  guard  officer  at  the  gates ; 
leaped  from  their  horses  at  the  sign  of  the  Crown  of 
France,  paid  their  post,  and  took  lodging  for  the 
night. 

Sir  Hilary  promptly  ordered  a  roasted  capon,  a 
fricasseed  hare,  a  wild  duck,  a  salad,  and  a  flask  of 
Burgundy,  the  two  gentlemen  having  chosen  a  table 
at  a  window.  While  they  sat  eating,  they  saw  drive 
up  to  the  inn  a  lumbering  four  -  wheeled  carriage, 
which  let  out  a  severe,  stately,  slender  old  lady,  a 
demure-looking,  black-eyed  girl  of  seventeen,  and  a 
gaunt,  gray-haired  man-servant,  in  well-worn  livery. 
Waiting  while  the  old  lady  oversaw  the  removal  of 
several  ancient  portmanteaus,  the  girl  looked  with 
indifferent  curiosity  at  the  inn.  Her  eyes,  swiftly 
moving,  met  Dick's  through  the  window,  and  rested 
a  moment,  —  a  moment  only,  but  time  sufficient  to 
give  him  that  sensation  which  fine  eyes,  so  encoun 
tered,  usually  produce.  The  girl  soon  looked  else 
where,  the  old  lady  led  the  way  into  the  inn,  and  the 
carriage  moved  off.  Dick  saw  no  more  of  the  black- 
eyed  girl  that  evening,  yet  he  did  not  forget  that  she 
was  under  the  same  roof  with  him. 

The  next  morning,  at  breakfast,  Sir  Hilary  raised 
the  question  as  to  what  means  of  conveyance  they 
should  next  take.  At  that  moment,  Dick  saw  the 
gray-haired  man-servant  taking  out  the  ladies'  lug- 


380  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

gage  to  the  Paris  diligence,  which  great,  unshapely 
vehicle,  drawn  by  gaunt  horses,  now  stood  before 
the  door. 

"  What  conveyance  ?  "  echoed  Dick.  "  How  can 
you  ask  ?  Why,  the  diligence,  of  course  ! " 

And  there  was  more  haste  than  Sir  Hilary  saw 
the  need  of,  in  finishing  the  breakfast,  paying  the 
bill,  and  getting  Sir  Hilary's  baggage  down-stairs  in 
time  to  make  sure  of  not  being  left  behind. 

Dick  and  Sir  Hilary  had  been  aboard  some  min 
utes,  before  the  ladies  appeared.  Dick  leaped  out 
and  gave  his  hand  to  them,  the  old  lady  first,  to 
assist  them  into  the  diligence.  The  old  lady  bowed, 
but  looked  distrustful ;  the  girl  said,  "  Merci,  mon 
sieur,"  in  a  low  but  appreciative  voice,  and  turned 
her  eyes  on  his  for  a  considerable  part  of  a  second. 
Dick  took  a  seat  where  he  could  get  a  view  of  the 
girl's  face  without  staring  directly  at  her,  and 
the  diligence  rumbled  off  with  many  a  violent  jolt. 

"They  call  these  machines  turgotines,"  said  Sir 
Hilary,  alluding  to  the  diligence,  and  speaking  in 
French  purposely  to  be  heard  by  the  other  pas 
sengers,  "because  they  were  introduced  during  the 
ministry  of  Monseer  Turgot,  but  if  I  were  Monseer 
Turgot  I  shouldn't  be  proud  on  that  account." 

A  Picardy  abbe  replying  with  a  polite  question  as 
to  stage-coaches  in  England,  the  conversation  soon 
became  general.  One  of  the  passengers  was  an  old 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A   DILIGENCE.       38  I 

lieutenant  who  had  served  in  Canada,  and,  through 
some  remark  of  his,  the  American  war  became  the 
topic,  —  a  topic  at  that  time  held  in  far  greater 
interest  throughout  Europe  than  Dick  had  imagined 
it  would  be.  A  difference  arising  among  the  pas 
sengers  as  to  the  relative  situations  of  Boston  and 
Philadelphia,  Dick  undertook  to  set  them  right;  but 
his  statement  was  doubted  by  the  majority.  There 
upon,  the  black-eyed  girl,  who  had  of  course  kept 
silent  hitherto,  spoke  out  in  a  somewhat  embar 
rassed  manner,  confirming  Dick's  assertion. 

"  Thanks,  mademoiselle  !  "  said  Dick,  gratefully. 
"  The  word  of  mademoiselle  must  be  final,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  —  she  is  doubtless  more  recently  from 
school  than  any  of  us." 

Mademoiselle  smiled  slightly,  and  said  no  more, 
the  old  lady's  look  being  directed  at  her  in  severe 
rebuke. 

The  stop  for  dinner  caused  a  rearrangement  of 
the  passengers  as  to  the  places  in  the  diligence. 
Dick  now  found  himself  beside  the  dark-eyed  girl,  at 
whose  other  hand,  in  a  corner,  sat  the  old  lady. 
At  Dick's  other  side  was  Sir  Hilary.  The  ladies' 
man-servant  was  outside.  Having  dined  heavily,  Sir 
Hilary  fell  asleep  before  the  coach  had  gone  far. 
And,  to  Dick's  unexpected  pleasure,  the  old  lady, 
after  several  preliminary  nods,  followed  the  fox- 
hunter's  example.  The  other  passengers  became 


382  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

engrossed  in  the  adventures  of  the  lieutenant  and 
the  comic  stories  of  the  abbe. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  America,  mademoiselle," 
said  Dick,  softly,  "that  you  are  so  well  informed 
about  its  towns  ?  " 

"No,  monsieur,"  she  answered,  in  as  low  a  tone 
as  his,  "  but,  as  you  said,  I  am  very  recently  from 
school.  I  have  often  studied  the  maps  at  the 
convent  I  left  but  yesterday." 

The  conversation  thus  entered  upon  continued 
during  the  whole  afternoon,  and  was  marked  by  an 
uninterrupted  progress  in  mutual  acquaintance  and 
confidence.  Under  certain  conditions,  and  between 
congenial  persons,  a  closer  intimacy  may  be  reached 
in  a  half  day's  fellow-travelling  than  may  otherwise 
be  attained  in  a  lifetime  of  occasional  meetings.  By 
the  time  the  diligence  neared  Abbeville  la  Pucelle, 
Dick  was  the  young  lady's  confidant  as  to  these 
facts  : 

She  was  leaving  her  convent  school  to  be  married 
in  Paris  to  a  Chevalier  of  St.  Louis,  whom  she 
regarded  with  aversion  for  the  reason  that  he  was 
almost  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather.  The  mar 
riage  had  been  arranged  by  her  father,  an  officer  of 
the  regiment  of  Picardy,  whose  sister  was  the  old 
lady  now  taking  her  to  Paris.  With  such  antipathy 
and  dread  did  the  girl  look  forward  to  the  marriage, 
that  she  had  almost  dared  to  meditate  rebellion  and 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A   DILIGENCE.       383 

flight,  for  she  was  not  closely  attached  to  her  father, 
whose  military  duties  kept  him  away  from  her,  and 
she  inherited  from  her  dead  mother,  a  moderate  for 
tune  that  could  not  be  alienated  from  her.  But  she 
was  under  the  domination  of  her  aunt,  who  had 
helped  arrange  the  marriage,  the  girl's  father  being 
on  service. 

"  What  else  can  I  do  ?  "  she  asked  Dick,  helplessly. 
"  I  dare  not  disobey  my  aunt,  I  have  not  the  courage 
to  resist  her.  I  have  felt  like  one  half  dead,  since  I 
left  the  convent,  and  in  that  condition  I  shall  be  led 
passively  through  it  all,  till  I  find  myself  —  oh,  how 
can  I  endure  it  ?  " 

"  You  shall  not !  "  said  Dick,  with  impulsive  eager 
ness  to  play  the  chivalrous  part.  "  You  must  not ! 
I  will  save  you  from  the  intolerable  fate !  " 

The  girl  looked  at  him  in  wonder.  "  If  you 
could  !  "  she  whispered  slowly,  half  in  despair,  half  in 
newly  risen  hope. 

At  that  moment,  the  diligence  coming  to  a  stop  at 
the  post  inn  at  Abbeville,  the  aunt  showed  signs  of 
waking.  "  Rely  on  me,  I  shall  not  desert  you  ! " 
whispered  Dick,  and  then  very  gallantly  stooped  and 
restored  a  handkerchief  dropped  by  the  aunt  in  the 
act  of  waking. 

That  evening,  while  Sir  Hilary  celebrated  in  many 
bumpers  the  beauty  of  the  girls  of  Abbeville,  Dick 
thought  over  the  situation  of  her  whose  eyes  made 


384  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

the  Abbeville  virgins  colorless  and  uninteresting. 
The  only  practicable  way  for  her  to  avoid  the  mar 
riage  was  by  physical  flight.  She  might  become  a 
nun,  but  Dick  could  not  tolerate  the  idea  of  so  much 
charm  buried  for  life  in  a  convent,  and  she  herself 
had  not  spoken  of  such  a  refuge.  She  might  have 
friends  or  relations  who  would  shelter  and  conceal 
her  in  her  rebellion.  But  if  this  were  not  the  case 
she  would  have  only  the  protection  and  guidance  of 
Dick,  and  there  was  but  one  condition  on  which  she 
could  accept  those  with  safety  to  her  honor.  Well, 
Dick  was  not  a  man  to  turn  back  after  having  given 
his  assurance ;  the  girl  was  certainly  charming  and 
amiable,  she  had  a  small  fortune  to  ensure  her  own 
comfort,  and  the  thought  of  her  perturbing  glances 
reserved  exclusively  for  some  other  man  filled  Dick 
with  a  kind  of  chagrin.  Moreover,  her  name  was 
Collette,  and  she  looked  the  name. 

The  next  day  he  got  no  chance  to  speak  to  her 
until  the  afternoon.  Then,  protected  as  before  by 
the  slumbering  aunt  on  one  side  and  the  drowsy 
baronet  on  the  other,  the  young  people  resumed 
their  conversation.  Was  she  still  as  much  opposed 
to  the  marriage  as  ever  ?  Oh,  decidedly,  far  more 
so!  —  with  a  little  terrified  look  at  Dick.  Had  she 
any  friends  to  whom  she  might  go  ?  None  who 
would  not  betray  her.  No  refuge  whatever  in  mind  ? 
None  whatever.  Would  she  risk  her  father's  dis- 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A    DILIGENCE.       385 

pleasure  and  her  aunt's,  provided  there  were  some 
one  to  stand  between  her  and  that  displeasure  ? 
Why,  yes,  if  such  a  situation  were  possible,  —  any 
thing  rather  than  the  marriage.  Would  she  be 
resigned  to  a  marriage  with  a  younger  gentleman  ? 
Why,  yes,  if  —  that  is  to  say  —  if  - 

"  If,"  said  Dick,  in  low  tones,  but  with  all  due 
signs  of  feeling,  "  if  the  gentleman  were  an  American, 
carried  from  his  country  by  the  wind  of  circumstance, 
with  nothing  in  the  world  but  the  clothes  on  his 
back,  a  few  louis  in  his  pocket,  and  some  land  in  the 
wilderness  of  Pennsylvania,  but  with  a  prospect  of 
honorable  employment  for  his  country  on  reaching 
Paris,  and  with  a  hand  that  could  be  turned  to  any 
thing  and  would  ever  be  devoted  to  your  honor  and 
happiness  ? " 

She  raised  her  eyes,  which  had  been  lowered,  and 
in  meeting  his  their  jetty  brilliance  took  a  humid 
softness  as  she  answered,  gently,  "  Is  it  of  yourself 
that  you  speak,  monsieur  ?  " 

So  it  was  agreed  upon,  while  the  diligence  rumbled 
past  a  gentle  hillside  crowned  by  a  fair  chateau 
flanked  by  oak  woods.  When  they  came  in  sight  of 
the  oak-topped  ramparts  of  Amiens,  their  plans  were 
complete.  Dick  was  to  have  a  hired  carriage  and 
post-horses  ready  near  the  inn,  and  Collette  was  to 
join  him  at  the  inn  door  as  soon  as  her  aunt  and  the 
servant  should  be  abed.  Riding  all  night  and  part 


386  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

of  the  next  day,  they  could  defy  pursuit,  and  carry 
out  their  purpose  at  leisure.  Though  they  should 
continue  towards  Paris,  there  would  be  no  danger  of 
being  overtaken,  especially  by  the  diligence,  which, 
because  of  bad  weather  and  bad  roads,  was  then  mak 
ing  smaller  than  the  usual  daily  stages,  as  any  one 
acquainted  with  the  country  traversed  will  have  seen. 
Dick  preferred  not  yet  to  take  Sir  Hilary  into  confi 
dence  ;  he  knew  where  to  communicate  with  the 
baronet  in  due  time  in  Paris. 

Amiens  was  a  large  town  with  fine  streets  of  well- 
built  houses,  and  with  a  beautiful  cathedral  contain 
ing  the  head  of  John  the  Baptist ;  but  Dick  had  no 
eye  for  these  things  on  this  occasion.  At  the  inn 
Sir  Hilary  met  two  officers  of  the  regiment  of  the 
Prince  of  Conde,  on  leave,  and  was  soon  lost  in 
.conversation  and  champagne,  so  that  Dick  was  free 
to  make  his  arrangements. 

Fortunately,  the  purse  pressed  upon  Dick  by  the 
baronet  in  Boulogne  was  still  nearly  full.  He 
obtained  a  carriage  from  the  diligence  company,  and 
two  horses  and  a  postilion  from  the  postman  at 
the  inn.  Soon  after  supper,  while  he  paced  before 
the  inn  door,  in  the  cold  evening,  the  cloaked  and 
hooded  figure  of  Collette  appeared  from  within, 
noiselessly ;  whereupon  he  took  her  hand,  and  the 
pair  hastened  like  ghosts  to  the  waiting  carriage, 
which  rattled  away  with  them  a  minute  later.  A 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A    DILIGENCE.       387 

twenty-four-sous  piece,  handed  to  the  sentinel,  caused 
the  city  gates,  which  had  been  closed  for  the  night, 
to  fly  open,  and  the  jack-booted  postilion  was  soon 
swearing  and  singing,  and  whipping  his  horses,  in 
the  open  country,  on  the  road  to  Chantilly.  Inside 
the  carriage,  the  two  young  people  sat  silent,  the 
girl  perhaps  trembling  now  and  then  at  thought  of 
the  leap  she  had  taken  into  the  unknown,  Dick  some 
what  sobered  at  the  responsibility  he  had  so  speedily 
assumed.  But  he  was,  as  usual,  ready  for  anything, 
and  often  he  pressed  her  hand  to  reassure  her. 

It  was  the  night  of  Thursday,  February  27,  1777. 
Evening  had  set  in  with  increasing  cold  and  a  howling 
wind.  Engrossed  in  their  thoughts,  Dick  and  Col- 
lette  for  two  or  three  hours  noticed  not  that  the  wind 
was  constantly  gaining  in  force  and  fury.  Suddenly 
the  carriage  stopped,  there  was  a  brief  wait,  and  the 
door  was  flung  open. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  go  farther  to-night,  monsieur," 
said  the  postilion,  thrusting  in  his  head.  "One  of 
the  horses  has  cast  a  shoe  and  is  very  lame." 

"  But  we  must  go  on,"  said  Dick.  "  It  is  a  matter 
of  life  and  death." 

"It  is  simply  impossible,"  said  the  postilion, 
stubbornly. 

"  It  cannot  be  impossible.  Have  I  not  paid  half 
the  post  hire  in  advance  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  can  go  on,  in  the  m'orning.     There  is 


388  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

an  auberge  a  little  distance  ahead,  where  he  and 
madame  can  pass  the  night.  I  will  find  a  smith  and 
have  the  horse  shod  in  time  to  set  out  early." 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  the  lameness  of  the  horse,  that 
moves  you,  or  a  desire  to  get  indoors  from  the  cold  ? " 
queried  Dick. 

"  Monsieur  1'Anglois  has  the  privilege  of  thinking 
as  it  may  please  him.  Will  he  have  me  drive  to  the 
auberge,  or  will  he  remain  here  in  the  road  all 
night  ? " 

"  Let  him  drive  to  the  auberge,  for  heaven's  sake  !  " 
whispered  Collette,  somewhat  terrified. 

The  auberge,  when  reached,  proved  to  be  a  misera 
ble  hut  of  three  apartments, — stable,  kitchen,  and 
common  sleeping-room.  The  host  and  his  wife, 
visible  by  light  of  candle  and  by  kitchen  fire,  were 
an  evil-looking  pair. 

"  Oh,"  said  Collette,  drawing  back  from  the  door 
way,  "  I  can  never  stay  here !  " 

"  There  is  no  other  place,"  said  the  postilion, 
with  an  impudent  grin. 

"  I  will  find  another  place,"  said  Dick,  beginning 
to  feel  ugly  towards  the  postilion.  "  I  see  a  light 
on  the  hill  yonder.  It  comes  from  the  window  of  a 
chateau.  Such  a  house  will  not  refuse  us  hospitality, 
my  Collette !  You  will  drive  us  to  that  house,  fel 
low  !  "  And  Dick  lifted  Mademoiselle  Collette  into 
the  carriage. 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A    DILIGENCE.       389 

"  I  will  not  drive  one  step  !  "  said  the  postillion, 
insolently,  with  a  careless  crack  of  his  whip. 

Dick  looked  at  the  fellow  a  moment,  strode  up  to 
him,  wrenched  the  whip  from  his  hand  by  an  unex 
pected  movement,  and  struck  him  two  quick  blows 
across  the  face  with  it. 

"  Drive  us  to  that  house !  "  said  Dick. 

The  postilion  mounted,  without  a  word,  and 
Dick,  retaining  the  whip,  joined  Collette  inside  the 
carriage. 

At  the  chateau,  while  Collette  remained  in  the 
carriage,  Dick  got  out  to  speak  to  the  servant  who 
opened  the  door  in  response  to  the  postilion's  knock. 
Dick  so  framed  his  message  to  the  master  of  the 
house,  that  the  latter  himself  came  to  the  door,  Dick 
remaining  outside  to  guard  Collette  and  the  carriage. 
The  master  of  the  house,  lighted  by  the  candles  in 
the  entrance-hall,  was  an  elderly  gentleman,  tall  and 
slender,  with  a  bright  eye  and  a  face  at  once  kindly, 
distinguished,  and  intellectual. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Dick,  in  as  good  French  as  he 
could  command,  "  a  circumstance  has  made  it  im 
possible  for  me  to  continue  to-night  a  journey  I 
began  in  that  carriage  a  few  hours  ago.  The  only 
inn  near  at  hand  is  one  where  it  would  be  equally 
impossible  for  the  lady  whom  I  have  the  honor  to 
protect,  to  pass  the  night.  The  lady  is  now  in  the 
carriage,  and  —  " 


390  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"  Monsieur  need  say  no  more,"  replied  the  gentle 
man,  in  a  most  courteous  and  sympathetic  tone. 
"  My  house  shall  be  the  lady's  inn  and  your  own. 
There  is  no  hostess  yet  to  welcome  her,  but  fortu 
nately  there  is  a  maid,  whom  I  shall  send  immediately. 
As  for  you,  monsieur,  when  you  have  seen  the  lady 
cared  for,  Etienne  will  show  you,  if  you  choose,  to 
the  room  in  which  I  shall  be  at  supper.  The  lady 
will  doubtless  prefer  to  sup  in  her  own  apartment." 

"  I  thank  you,  monsieur,  but  we  have  supped 
already.  I  will  do  myself  the  honor  to  join  you, 
nevertheless,  and  make  myself  better  acquainted 
with  so  courteous  a  gentleman." 

The  gentleman  smiled,  bowed,  and  disappeared 
through  an  inner  door.  Dick  returned  to  Collette. 

"  A  maid  will  come  for  you  in  a  moment,"  said  he. 
"  Our  host  is  a  most  charming  gentleman,  both  in 
act  and  in  appearance." 

"  I  did  not  look  out  of  the  carriage  to  see  him," 
said  Collette,  taking  Dick's  hand  and  stepping  to 
the  ground.  "  Why,  how  strange  that  I  should  be  a 
guest  at  this  house !  I  recognize  it  now.  It  is  one 
that  I  have  often  noticed  while  riding  past  in  the 
road  below.  I  have  always  wished  I  might  live  in 
it." 

A  maid  now  appeared  at  the  doorway.  Collette 
took  leave  of  Dick  for  the  night,  saying  she  desired 
nothing  further  and  would  defer  till  morning  her 


AN  ELOPEMENT'  FROM  A   DILIGENCE.      39! 

meeting  with  the  master  of  the  house.  Dick  there 
upon  sent  the  shivering  postilion,  with  horses,  car 
riage,  and  whip,  back  to  the  auberge,  and  asked 
Etienne,  the  servant  who  had  let  him  in,  and  who 
still  stood  in  the  entrance-hall,  to  show  him  to  the 
supper  table. 

In  a  richly  furnished  room,  softly  lighted  by  wax 
candles,  and  warmed  by  fragrant  fagots  in  a  small 
fireplace,  he  found  his  considerate  host  seated  at  a 
well-filled  table,  opposite  a  round-faced  priest,  still 
under  middle  age,  who  beamed  with  merriment  and 
good  nature.  Dick  announced  his  name,  and  was 
thereupon  introduced  to  the  Abbe  Foyard  by  the 
master  of  the  house,  who  then  said  : 

"  Monsieur  will  pardon  me,  I  am  sure,  if  I  adhere 
—  merely  for  the  sake  of  habit  —  to  the  incognito  I 
am  preserving  in  this  neighborhood  at  present.  I  do 
not  wish  my  name  to  get  abroad  as  the  new  pur 
chaser  of  this  estate." 

"  My  obligations  are  no  less  for  my  not  knowing 
to  whom  they  are  due,  monsieur,"  said  Dick,  taking 
the  seat  to  which  his  host  motioned  him,  at  the 
table.  He  would  eat  nothing,  but  he  would  drink 
some  wine,  and  he  joined  in  a  toast  of  Burgundy, 
proposed  by  the  Abbe",  with  a  twinkling  eye,  to 
"Madame  la  Comtesse  that  is  to  be." 

From  the  fact  that  in  the  ensuing  conversation 
the  Abbe  addressed  the  master  of  the  house  as  Mon- 


392  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

sieur  le  Comte,  Dick  soon  understood  the  toast,  the 
Abbe's  look  of  sly  merriment,  and  the  half  pleased, 
half  chiding  expression  of  the  Count  himself.  The 
bottle  went  round  often,  and  the  talk  became  uncon 
strained.  Dick  made  it  known  that  he  was  an  Ameri 
can,  whereupon  he  was  plied  with  many  questions 
concerning  the  war,  and  particularly  concerning  the 
personality  of  Washington.  The  Count  then  said 
he  had  seen  that  great  philosopher,  Franklin,  in 
Paris,  honored  by  beautiful  women  and  celebrated 
men,  among  whom  he  appeared  in  his  plain  coat, 
as  if  the  simplicity  of  the  ancient  sages  had  been 
in  him  revived. 

"  It  is  in  the  hope  of  meeting  him,"  said  Dick, 
"that  I  am  now  on  the  way  to  Paris." 

"  Then  you  have  a  pleasure  very  near  at  hand," 
said  the  Count. 

"I  trust  it  is  near  at  hand,"  said  Dick.  "It  may 
be  delayed  by  another  matter  that  must  intervene,  — 
also  a  pleasure." 

"  You  speak  and  look  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
some  doubt  or  difficulty,"  said  the  Count.  "  If  I  can 
be  of  assistance  —  " 

"  I  thank  you,  monsieur,  but  it  is  a  matter  in 
which  the  aid  of  Monsieur  1'Abbe  would  be  more 
to  the  point." 

"  Command  me,  monsieur,"  put  in  the  Abbe". 
"  My  aid  is  for  whoever  asks  it." 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A    DILIGENCE.       393 

"I  begin  to  understand,"  said  the  Count,  with  a 
kindly  smile.  "  The  lady  in  the  carriage  —  ' 

"  Precisely,"  said  Dick.  "  Monsieur  le  Comte  is 
very  penetrating." 

"  Oh,  no,  very  stupid,  usually,"  said  the  Count. 
"  But  at  present  there  is  a  reason  why  my  percep 
tion  is  keen  wherever  a  love  affair  or  a  marriage 
is  concerned." 

"  Then  it  is  true,  as  the  toast  of  Monsieur 
1'Abbe  indicated,  that  you  also  are  about  to 
achieve  happiness?  We  have  to  felicitate  each 
other !  " 

"Yes,  it  is  true.  And  so  great  is  my  happiness 
that  I  would  have  the  whole  world  happy  at  the 
same  time.  I  was  saying  this  to  the  Abbe  only 
an  hour  ago,  and  wishing  for  opportunities  to  make 
others  similarly  happy,  when,  behold,  the  good  God 
grants  my  wish  by  sending  you  to  my  door.  You 
would  have  the  aid  of  the  Abbe!,  you  say  ?  Very 
well.  I  use  the  power  I  have  over  the  Abbe's 
actions,  through  his  affection  for  me,  to  compel 
his  aid  in  your  behalf." 

"But  that  is  not  necessary,"  said  the  Abbe. 
"  You  know  I  dote  upon  runaway  matches.  I  need 
not  apologize,  Monsieur  Wetheral,  —  one  can  easily 
see,  by  the  circumstances,  that  yours  is  a  runaway 
match.  It  is  therefore  a  love  match." 

"You   are  right,   Monsieur  1'Abbe.     The  young 


394  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

lady  was  to  have  been  sacrificed,  according  to  the 
custom  that  prevails  everywhere  but  in  my  country. 
Her  horror  at  the  match  arranged  for  her  would 
have  distressed  you,  gentlemen,  if  you  could  have 
witnessed  it." 

"  I  am  sure  it  would  have  distressed  me,"  said 
the  Count.  "  But  it  is  now  averted,  and  need  be 
thought  of  no  more.  The  Abbe  shall  perform  your 
marriage  before  you  leave  my  roof,  under  which  you 
are  safe  from  all  pursuit." 

"  Imagine  Monsieur  le  Comte  aiding  and  abetting 
a  runaway  marriage  a  year  ago  !  "  said  the  Abbe", 
with  a  roguish  smile. 

"The  Abbe"  is  right,  young  gentleman.  A  year 
ago  I  should  no  more  have  thought  of  violating  a 
universal  custom  of  our  civilization  than  of  joining 
a  conspiracy  against  the  King.  But  a  year  ago  I 
ha4  not  loved.  I  knew  not  what  it  might  be  for  a 
man  to  see  the  woman  he  loved  given  into  the  posses 
sion  of  another.  I  now  consider  love  as  having  first 
right.  It  is  to  be  obeyed  against  all  other  considera 
tions.  Moreover,  if  I  now  do  Love  a  service  in  aid 
ing  this  match  of  yours,  Love  will  owe  me  a  favor. 
It  may  repay  me  by  —  giving  me  —  The  Count 
ceased  talking,  and  sighed. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  has  a  strange  fancy  he  does 
not  receive  back  as  much  love  as  he  bestows," 
explained  the  Abbe,  gently.  "  He  does  not  allow  for 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A    DILIGENCE.       39$ 

the  lady's  youth,  which  makes  her  naturally  shy  and 
undemonstrative  in  his  presence." 

"  I  am  sure  there  can  be  no  reason  for  his  fancy," 
said  Dick,  glancing  with  genuine  admiration  at  the 
singularly  noble  and  gentle  countenance  of  his 
host. 

"And  if  there  were,"  said  the  Abbe",  noting  that 
the  Count  still  looked  pensive,  "  what  woman's  heart 
could  continue  long  unsusceptible  to  such  munifi 
cence  ?  What  think  you  of  this  chateau,  with  its 
princely  parks,  as  a  wedding  present,  monsieur,  —  a 
little  surprise,  after  the  jewels,  the  house  in  Paris, 
and  the  other  trinkets  shall  have  been  surveyed  ? 
Do  you  not  think  that,  if  anything  be  wanting  to 
make  the  lady's  heart  respond,  it  will  be  supplied 
when  she  is  told  that  she  is  mistress  of  this  house, 
which,  as  Monsieur  le  Comte  has  learned,  she  has 
coveted  since  her  childhood  ?  " 

Dick's  thought  that  the  Abbe"  knew  less  of  how 
women  are  constituted  than  abbes  are  supposed  to 
know,  was  suddenly  driven  out  by  another  thought, 
—  that  it  was  strange  two  young  ladies  should  both 
have  coveted  this  chateau  since  childhood. 

"You  now  understand,"  said  the  Count  to  Dick, 
"  my  desire  to  remain  unknown  as  the  purchaser  of 
this  place.  I  would  not  have  the  news  reach  her 
ears  and  spoil  the  surprise.  And  I  congratulate 
myself  on  being  here,  superintending  the  last  altera- 


396  tHE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

tions,  and  on  having  brought  the  Abbe  with  me  as 
company ;  for  that  your  love  match  may  be  some 
what  facilitated  through  us.  Come,  Abbe,  rejoice 
with  me  that  we  are  enabled  to  serve  love,  and  to 
baffle  those  who  would  do  it  violence  !  What  greater 
crime  can  there  be  than  to  force  a  girl  to  a  marriage 
of  interest  ?  Your  rival,  monsieur,  will  deserve  his 
discomfiture !  I  should  really  like  to  witness  his 
chagrin.  To  conspire  selfishly,  with  a  young  girl's 
natural  protectors,  against  her  happiness  !  Yes,  it 
pleases  me  to  think  how  crestfallen  he  will  be ! 
Monsieur,  you  have  drunk  already  to  my  future  coun 
tess  ;  let  us  drink  now  to  the  lady  whom  the  Abbe 
shall  unite  to  you  in  this  house  at  whatever  time 
she  may  select !  " 

The  toast  was  drunk  heartily,  and  Dick,  letting 
his  eyes  rove  lazily  among  the  many  signs  of  wealth 
and  luxurious  comfort  in  the  room,  inwardly  con 
trasted  the  possible  future  of  the  girl  whose  fate  he 
was  to  take  in  charge,  with  that  of  her  whose  destiny 
was  to  be  in  the  keeping  of  the  rich  and  generous 
Count. 

"  To  think  that  her  house  should  serve  the  roman 
tic  purpose  of  a  runaway  love  match ! "  said  the 
Count,  with  a  smile*.  "It  will  amuse  Collette." 

Dick  turned  pale.  "Collette !  "  he  echoed.  "  You 
said  Collette ! " 

"  That  is  the  first  name  of  the  lady  who  is  to  be 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A   DILIGENCE.       397 

my  wife,"  explained  the  Count.  "Why  does  it 
startle  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  because  I  have  heard  that  name  so  recently. 
My  own  fiancee  has  a  friend  of  that  name,  —  a 
schoolmate,  at  a  convent  somewhere  near  Mon- 
treuil." 

"  Tis  the  very  same ! "  cried  the  Count,  with 
great  pleasure.  "To  think,  Abbe,  that  we  should 
be  of  service  to  one  of  her  friends  !  That  surely 
will  delight  her !  " 

"  But,"  faltered  Dick,  "  is  it  certain  ?  There  may 
be  two  of  that  name  at  the  same  convent.  The  one 
of  whom  I  speak  has  left  it  very  recently,  with  her 
aunt  —  " 

"  It  is  she ! "  said  the  Count,  more  and  more 
rejoiced  at  corroborative  details.  "  She  ought  to  be 
at  this  moment  at  Abbeville  or  Amiens,  on  the  way 
to  Paris  to  be  married.  She  will  pass  this  house 
and  look  up  at  it,  wishing  it  were  hers,  as  she 
has  so  often  done,  and  never  dreaming  I  am  here 
making  it  ready  for  her !  Yes,  there  can  be  no 
doubt,  it  is  the  same  Collette,  —  Mademoiselle  de 
Sarton!" 

When  Dick  was  shown  to  a  round  chamber  in  a 
turret-shaped  corner  of  the  chateau  that  night,  he 
asked  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  saying  he  always 
wrote  his  letters  late.  By  the  light  of  a  small  can 
delabra,  and  after  much  thought  and  many  begin- 


398  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

nings,  he  composed  two  documents  before  he  went 
to  bed. 

At  earliest  dawn  he  dressed  and  went  down-stairs, 
told  the  only  servant  he  found  up  that  he  was  going 
for  a  short  walk,  and  left  with  the  servant  the  two 
letters,  each  to  be  taken  to  the  chamber  of  its  in 
tended  recipient.  Then  Dick  hastened  to  the  au- 
berge  where  his  horses  and  postilion  had  passed 
the  night. 

One  letter  was  to  Collette,  and  read  as  follows  : 

"  MADEMOISELLE  : 

"  You  are  now  in  your  own  house,  which  you  have  so  long 
wished  to  possess.  Its  master,  the  noblest,  kindest,  and  hand 
somest  gentleman  in  the  world,  with  boundless  will  and  means 
to  make  you  happy,  is  he  from  whom  I,  a  worthless  adventurer 
with  neither  possessions  nor  prospects,  would  have  taken  you,  in 
my  ignorance  and  folly.  You  should  thank  God  for  your  es 
cape  and  for  giving  you  a  husband  such  as  Monsieur  le  Comte, 
whose  years  have  but  added  to  his  graces  and  his  merits.  I 
have  written  him  to  such  effect  that  he  will  understand  all,  and 
that,  when  he  comes  to  greet  you,  nothing  will  be  necessary  on 
your  part  but  for  you  to  give  him  your  hand,  and  offer  your 
brow  for  the  caress  which  a  princess  might  be  rejoiced  and 
honored  to  receive." 

The  other  letter  was  to  the  Count  himself,  and, 
whatever  it  contained,  there  is  plentiful  record,  in 
the  family  history  of  the  Counts  de  Rollin court,  to 
show  that  it  accomplished  its  purpose.  By  the  time 


AN  ELOPEMENT  FROM  A    DILIGENCE.       399 

the  aunt  of  Mile,  de  Sarton  reached  the  newly 
bought  estate  of  the  Count  de  Rollincourt,  in  mad 
search  of  her  fugitive  niece,  servants  were  in  wait 
ing  at  the  road  to  conduct  her  to  the  chateau,  where 
her  amazement  to  find  the  Count  in  possession  was 
promptly  doubled  on  seeing  Collette  installed  as  mis 
tress,  —  for,  if  the  Count's  little  surprise  was  spoiled, 
his  plan  of  having  the  Abbe"  Foyard  perform  an  im 
promptu  marriage  was  carried  out,  after  all. 

Meanwhile,  long  before  this  happy  issue  of  affairs, 
Dick  Wetheral  had  roused  "the  cowed  postilion  and 
set  out  on  horseback  towards  Paris,  leaving  the  car 
riage  to  be  taken  back  when  the  postilion  should 
return.  Dismissing  this  postilion  at  the  first  post, 
he  took  new  horses,  and,  riding  all  day,  despite 
weather  and  bad  roads,  he  arrived  at  evening  at  St. 
Denis,  and  dismounted  at  the  principal  inn,  —  tired, 
hungry,  and  bespattered  with  mud.  Before  going  to 
bed,  he  sent  for  a  servant  to  give  his  clothes  a  thor 
ough  cleaning,  that  he  might  in  the  morning  make 
his  triumphal  entry  into  Paris  in  a  state  of  attire  be 
fitting  so  important  an  event.  When  his  head  rested 
on  the  pillow,  it  was  with  a  pleasant  thrill  at  the 
realization  that  his  road,  roundabout  as  it  had  been, 
had  indeed  led  him  to  the  very  portals  of  Paris,  and 
that  it  would  take  him  across  those  portals  on  the 
early  morrow. 

He  little  knew  in  what  manner  he  was  to  cross 


4OO  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

those  portals,  how  he  was  to  pass  through  the  city 
yet  see  it  not,  and  what  a  vast  loop  his  road  was  to 
describe,  over  strange  perils  and  through  wild  heart 
burnings,  ere  it  should  land  him  in  Paris  with  free 
feet  and  open  eyes. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

PASTORAL    AND    TRAGEDY. 

THE  morrow,  March  2d,  was  Sunday,  and  with  it 
came  a  change  to  soft  and  sunny  weather.  As  Dick 
soon  learned,  this  was  a  day  to  bring  Parisians  out 
into  the  fields  ;  a  day  on  which  the  people  would  go  to 
church  and  then  to  pleasure,  in  their  gayest  clothes ; 
a  day  on  which  a  stranger  entering  Paris  in  Dick's 
circumstances  would  be  out  of  harmony  with  the 
general  picture.  Moreover,  gladdened  by  the  unex 
pected  foretaste  of  spring,  St.  Denis  itself  looked 
charming.  Therefore,  Dick  decided  to  postpone  the 
long-anticipated  entrance  till  Monday. 

He  went  in  the  morning  to  the  famous  abbey 
church  where  the  kings  of  France  were  buried ; 
and  after  that  he  walked  to  the  banks  of  the  Seine, 
whose  waters  sparkled  in  the  sunlight  or  flowed 
green  beneath  the  trees  along  the  edge.  Doing  as 
he  saw  some  others  do,  Dick  hired  a  boat,  with  a 
boatman,  and  started  to  row  up  the  Seine,  —  that 
is  to  say,  southward,  towards  St.  Ouen  and  the  more 
immediate  environs  of  Paris. 

401 


402  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Keeping  to  the  right  or  eastern  bank  of  the  river, 
the  boat  had  reached  a  place  between  an  island  and  a 
terraced  park,  when  it  was  suddenly  run  into  by 
a  larger  craft,  which  contained  a  pleasure  party  row 
ing  down  the  river.  Dick's  boat  was  upset,  and  himself 
thrown  out  in  such  a  way  that  he  had  to  dive  to  save 
his  head  from  collision.  He  made  a  few  powerful 
strokes  under  water,  to  put  himself  clear  of  the 
boats,  and  when  he  came  to  the  surface  he  found 
that  his  boatman  had  been  taken  aboard  by  the 
pleasure  party  and  was  proceeding  down  the  river, 
the  smaller  boat  in  tow.  There  was  evidently  no 
intention,  on  any  one's  part,  to  pick  up  Dick. 

"French  politeness,  in  the  lower  classes,  is  so 
thick  on  -the  top  that  there's  none  left  at  bottom," 
thought  Dick,  thus  abandoned  ;  and  then  he  struck 
out  for  the  noble  park  that  rose  on  the  right  bank 
of  the  river.  Thanks  to  the  evergreens  among 
its  trees,  and  to  its  grass  streaked  here  and  there 
with  sunshine,  this  park  had  even  now  a  verdant 
appearance,  and  it  was  made  inviting  by  little  pavil 
ions  and  summer-houses  here  and  there,  and  by 
glimpses  of  a  charming  chateau  in  its  midst. 

Dick  had  no  sooner  clambered  ashore  and  risen  to 
let  the  water  drip  from  his  clothes,,  than  a  slender 
girl,  eleven  years  old,  came  out  of  a  summer-house, 
carrying  a  cane,  as  was  the  fashion  of  the  time, 
and  accompanied  on  one  side  by  a  footman  who 


PASTORAL  AND    TRAGEDY.  403 

held  a  parasol  over  her,  and  on  the  other  by  a  large, 
bounding  black  dog.  She  had  an  extremely  intelli 
gent  face,  the  hair  turning  back  from  a  thoughtful 
forehead.  Her  manner  and,  as  Dick  soon  found 
out,  her  speech  were  those  of  a  woman  twice  her 
age. 

"  Monsieur  has  been  emulating  Leander,"  said  this 
young  lady  of  eleven,  the  instant  she  was  within 
speaking  distance  of  Dick,  one  glance  of  her  fine 
eyes  having  enabled  her  to  estimate  him  to  her  own 
satisfaction. 

Surprised  at  such  a  speech,  made  with  such  non 
chalance  by  such  a  child,  Dick  gazed  for  a  moment 
in  silence.  She  bore  his  gaze  with  perfect  sang-froid. 
So  he  said,  smiling  : 

"  It  would  be  worth  while,  if  mademoiselle  were 
the  daughter  of  Sestos." 

"  Has  monsieur  swum  all  the  way  from  England  ? " 
asked  the  girl,  evidently  to  show  that  she  recognized 
his  way  of  speaking  French. 

"  Mademoiselle  mistakes,  doubtless  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,"  said  Dick.  "  I  am  an  American, 
and  if  I  have  not  swum  all  the  way  from  America,  I 
am  at  least  as  wet  as  if  I  had." 

"  Monsieur  is  indeed  a  veritable  rain-storm.  Al- 
phonse,  show  monsieur  to  a  room  where  he  may  dry 
his  clothes.  If  he  went  home  in  them  as  they  are, 
he  might  catch  cold,  —  America  is  some  distance 


404  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

away.  You  may  leave  me  alone,  —  yonder  comes 
Monsieur  Marmontel." 

The  footman,  resigning  to  her  the  parasol  at  a 
gesture,  immediately  led  Dick,  over  gravel  walks 
flanked  by  lime-trees  and  foliage,  to  a  side  entrance 
of  the  handsome  house,  and  thence  up-stairs  to  a 
chamber,  in  which  another  servant  soon  started  a 
fire.  After  taking  off  his  clothes  to  dry  them,  Dick 
donned  a  dressing-gown  brought  him  by  the  foot 
man.  The  chamber  having  been  placed  entirely  at 
his  service,  he  made  use  of  its  toilet  articles  to  re 
store  his  best  appearance.  This  done,  and  his  clothes 
dried,  he  put  them  on  again,  and  went  out  the  way  he 
had  come,  looking  around,  when  he  reached  the  front 
of  the  house,  for  some  one  to  thank. 

"The  weather  has  changed  as  to  monsieur,"  came 
a  voice  from  a  clump  of  shrubs,  and  the  girl  stepped 
into  view,  attended,  as  before,  by  the  footman. 

"  It  is  true,  mademoiselle.  I  no  longer  weep  tears 
of  Seine  water.  Instead,  I  smile  in  my  heart  with 
gratitude.  May  I  know  to  whom  my  thanks  are  due  ? 
I  am  —  " 

"  No,  no,  do  not  say  who  you  are !  One  is  far 
more  interesting  who  remains  unknown,  and  I  am 
dying  to  meet  an  interesting  person." 

"  I  am  sure  mademoiselle  would  remain  interesting, 
even  if  I  knew  her  name." 

,'  No,  for  as  long  as  you  don't  know  me  I  shall  be 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY.  405 

just  as  interesting  to  you  as  your  imagination  can 
make  me.  Besides,  the  luxury  of  being  unknown,  at 
St.  Ouen,  where  everybody  knows  me,  is  refreshing. 
It  makes  me  seem  another  person." 

She  had  led  the  way  farther  from  the  chateau 
while  talking,  and  now  she  sat  down  on  a  rustic 
bench,  and  motioned  Alphonse  to  take  away  the 
parasol.  Dick  saw  no  reason  for  an  immediate  de 
parture,  so  he  stood  behind  the  bench,  looking  now 
at  the  girl,  now  at  the  large  trees  on  the  terrace. 

"  Do  you  know,  an  idea  has  come  to  me,"  said  the 
girl,  when  Alphonse  had  taken  his  station  some  dis 
tance  away.  The  dog  now  came  bursting  through 
some  leafless  foliage,  and  stood  beside  her,  receiving 
her  light  caresses  while  the  conversation  went  on. 

"  If  ideas  are  as  uncommon  in  France  as  they  are 
elsewhere,"  said  Dick,  "you  will  be  famous." 

"  I  shall  doubtless  be  famous  some  day,  but  not 
through  this  idea.  It  is  not  original.  The  Abbe 
Raynal  and  I  used  to  amuse  ourselves  by  means  of 
it,  but  I  knew  all  the  while  that  he  was  the  Abbe 
Raynal,  and  he  knew  that  I  was  Germaine  —  nion 
Dieu,  I  nearly  spoiled  all  by  telling  my  name !  " 

"  Germaine,"  repeated  Dick.  "  I  shall  remember 
that,  at  least." 

"  I  give  you  permission  to  remember  it,  only  on 
condition  that  you  promise  not  to  find  out  who  I 
am,  or  whose  house  this  is." 


406  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"Very  well.  After  all,  I  like  mystery.  I 
promise." 

"  So  much  the  better.  This  is  the  idea.  When  I 
was  younger,  I  used  to  have  a  little  make-believe 
theatre,  with  miniature  actors  that  I  cut  out  of  paper. 
The  Abbe"  overheard  me  one  day  rehearsing  them  in 
a  little  comedy  I  had  written,  and  offered  to  act  with 
me  whatever  pieces  required  only  two  characters. 
We  began  with  a  piece  containing  a  shepherd  and  a 
shepherdess,  and,  from  acting  that,  we  went  a  step 
farther,  and  continued  to  pretend  that  we  were  the 
shepherds,  carrying  out  the  illusion  without  premedi 
tated  speech  or  action.  The  Abb6  had  done  similar 
things  at  Sceaux,  in  the  time  of  the  Duchess  du 
Maine." 

"  I  have  read  of  the  French  nobility  having  amused 
themselves  in  that  way,"  said  Dick. 

"  Yes,  when  all  the  world  was  reading  '  Astree,'  and 
a  hundred  years  later,  when  Watteau  and  the  opera 
brought  shepherds  into  fashion  again,"  replied  this 
youthful  prodigy  of  information.  "  It  was  a  charming 
amusement,  was  it  not  ?  But  the  trouble  was,  when 
we  attempted  it,  that  no  amount  of  imagination  could 
transform  the  Abbe",  with  his  '  History  of  the  Two 
Indies '  in  mind,  into  a  shepherd.  You  understand,  I 
knew  him  so  well.  But  you,  of  whom  I  know  nothing, 
and  who  have  come  into  my  view  in  so  strange  a 
manner  —  "  » 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY.  407 

"  More  like  a  river  god  than  like  a  shepherd," 
commented  Dick. 

"  Oh,  shepherds  often  fell  into  brooks  !  Nothing 
could  be  more  in  character.  Well,  we  are  to  play 
that  you  are  a  shepherd  called  —  not  Celadon ;  we 
sha'n't  take  our  names  from  d'Urfe, — let  me 
think  —  " 

"  Silvius,"  suggested  Dick,  remembering  the  shep 
herds  of  Arden,  in  Shakespeare. 

"Yes,  Silvius  is  a  good  name.  And  I  shall  be 
Amaryllis." 

"  And  where  are  the  sheep  ?  " 

"We  shall  have  to  imagine  the  sheep  at  present, 
though  I  can  obtain  some  easily  enough.  Well,  you 
shall  come  every  day  in  a  boat,  in  the  afternoon,  and 
I  will  be  waiting  somewhere  near  the  place  at  which 
you  landed  this  morning." 

"  And  must  I  come  as  wet  as  I  was  this  morning  ?  " 

"  No.  You  shall  be  a  dry  shepherd  hereafter. 
Come  about  two  o'clock,  if  the  weather  is  clear ;  but 
remember,  I  am  not  to  know  where  you  come  from, 
or  whither  you  go  when  you  leave,  any  more  than 
you  are  to  know  who  I  am.  Now,  that  is  all  settled ! 
Till  to*morrow,  Silvius  !  " 

"  But  how  am  I  to  get  home  to-day  ?  Would  you 
have  me  swim  ?  " 

"  No.  Alphonse  will  show  you  out  by  the  gate 
to-day,  and  you  can  go  by  land  to  your  lodge,  — 


408  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

remember,  shepherds  dwell  in  lodges.  But  after  this 
you  will  come  in  a  boat,  and  leave  it  at  the  shore  to 
return  by.  So,  till  to-morrow,  Silvius  !  " 

"Till  to-morrow,  Amaryllis!"  said  Dick,  with  a 
bow  not  very  shepherd-like.  Obedient  to  a  word 
from  the  girl,  Alphonse,  who  had  heeded  nothing  of 
her  talk  if  he  had  heard  it,  conducted  Dick  past  the 
house  and  through  more  of  the  park,  to  a  gate,  which 
opened  on  a  tree-lined  avenue.  Dick  turned  to  the 
left,  and  a  walk  of  about  a  mile  and  a  half  brought 
him  to  St.  Denis,  where  he  dined  and  spent  the  rest 
of  the  day  thinking  of  his  odd  adventure. 

He  found  himself  looking  forward  to  the  next  day 
with  pleasure.  The  bright  face  and  the  expressive 
eyes  seemed  to  draw  him  back  towards  St.  Ouen. 
He  could  not  get  them  out  of  his  mind.  The  knowl 
edge  of  their  proximity  gave  the  whole  neighborhood 
a  new  life  and  charm.  He  no  longer  wished  to 
hasten  from  that  neighborhood.  Paris  no  longer 
lured  him  as  with  irresistible  seductions.  He  found 
it  now  quite  easy  to  tarry  at  the  very  threshold  of 
the  city. 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  he  thought,  "that  I  am 
falling  in  love  with  this  child  ? " 

He  knew  not  that  men  twice  and  thrice  his  age 
—  great  men,  whose  names  sounded  through  the 
world  of  philosophy  and  letters  —  had  asked  them 
selves  the  same  question,  regarding  the  same  child. 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY.  409 

The  next  morning,  Dick  visited  one  or  two  small 
shops  in  St.  Denis,  and  added  to  his  meagre  supply 
of  linen,  handkerchiefs,  and  hosiery.  Considering 
the  small  stock  of  money  he  had  left,  this  was  a  piece 
of  extravagance,  but  he  counted  on  immediate  em 
ployment  by  Mr.  Franklin,  on  reaching  Paris.  Such 
is  the  confidence  of  youth. 

In  the  afternoon  he  hired  a  boat,  this  time  without 
a  boatman,  and  rowed  alone  to  the  appointed  landing- 
place.  As  soon  as  he  had  made  his  boat  fast,  he 
saw  his  shepherdess  approaching  down  the  terrace, 
herself  carrying  the  parasol,  the  footman  standing 
back  within  hearing  distance. 

"  Good  day,  Amaryllis  !  "  he  called  out. 

"  Good  day,  Silvius  !  Follow  me  to  my  lodge." 
She  led  the  way  to  a  rustic  open  summer-house 
veiled  by  a  clump  of  trees,  the  smaller  ones  forming 
a  semicircle  that  enclosed  a  sunlit,  grassy  space 
descending  gradually  from  the  summer-house  to  a 
row  of  shrubs  that  grew  along  the  river. 

"This  is  my  lodge,"  she  said,  sitting  on  the  bench 
that  ran  around  the  inside  of  the  structure. 

Dick  sat  on  the  step  at  the  entrance,  near  her 
feet,  and  said,  glancing  at  the  clear  space  before 
them  : 

"  I  see  your  lodge  is  situated  so  that  you  can  sit 
in  it  and  keep  your  sheep  in  sight  while  they 
graze." 


410  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"Yes,  this  spot  is  their  favorite  pasture,  as  you 
can  see." 

Dick  looked  at  the  invisible  sheep  dotting  the 
clean  sward.  "So  I  perceive.  But  let  me  under 
stand.  Is  this  flock  yours  alone,  or  are  my  sheep 
also  here  ? " 

"  Oh,  you  have  left  your  flock  on  your  own  hill 
side,  and  have  come  up  the  stream  to  see  me. 
Neglectful  shepherd ! " 

"  When  a  shepherd  neglects  his  own  sheep,  and 
hies  to  the  lodge  of  a  neighboring  shepherdess,  you 
know  what  it  is  a  sign  of,"  said  Dick. 

"It  is  a  sign  that  he  likes  to  gossip." 

"  No  ;  it  is  a  sign  that  Cupid  is  at  work." 

Amaryllis  blushed  ever  so  slightly,  but  seemed 
pleased,  and  did  not  lose  her  composure.  "  Well, 
to  be  sure,  that  is  what  invariably  occurs  between 
shepherds  and  shepherdesses.  I  suppose  there  is  no 
way  of  getting  around  it." 

"Not  when  Amaryllis  is  the  shepherdess,  by 
Jupiter !  "  said  Dick,  with  genuine  enthusiasm. 

So  the  game  went  on,  and,  whether  or  not  it  was 
all  fun  with  Amaryllis,  it  soon  became  half  in  earnest 
with  Silvius.  By  a  miracle,  the  balmy  weather,  a 
premature  promise  of  spring,  lasted  a  week.  Every 
day  Silvius  came  to  the  tryst,  and,  when  he  did  not 
find  Amaryllis  waiting,  he  had  not  long  to  wait  for 
her.  They  strolled  along  the  wooded  banks  of  the 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY.  4!  I 

Seine,  fancying  those  banks  to  be  now  those  of 
the  Lignon,  now  those  of  the  Tiber,  now  those 
of  some  Hellenic  or  Sicilian  stream. 

.  Sometimes  a  dainty  luncheon,  set  out  in  the  lodge 
or  under  the  trees,  varied  the  monotony  of  this  shep 
herd  life.  Sometimes  the  conversation  rose  far  out 
of  the  ken  of  ordinary  shepherds,  and  invaded  such 
subjects  as  philosophy  and  religion,  sentiment  and 
the  passions,  art  and  letters,  music  and  the  drama. 
Amaryllis  described  the  acting  of  LeKain,  and  Sil- 
vius  gave  an  account  of  the  last  appearance  of 
Garrick,  which  Dick  had  witnessed  from  the  first 
gallery  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre  the  previous  June 
loth,  when  the  English  actor  played  "  Don  Felix  " 
in  "  The  Wonder  "  and  made  a  farewell  speech  that 
drew  tears  from  himself  and  his  brilliant  audience. 
But  Dick  learned  far  more  than  he  could  impart. 
His  week  of  make-believe  pastoral  was  an  education, 
and  did  more  to  fit  him  for  the  fine  world  than  all 
his  former  years  had  done.  Of  course  that  week 
had  results  of  the  heart  as  well  as  of  the  intellect. 

One  afternoon,  the  second  Tuesday  of  their 
acquaintance,  after  they  had  sat  some  time  at  the 
lodge  in  silence,  Dick  gazing  pensively  at  the  green 
space  before  him,  he  let  his  thought  take  the  form 
of  speech  : 

"  After  all,  when  you  are  eighteen  I  shall  be  only 
twenty-six." 


412  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"  That  will  be  seven  years  from  now,"  she  said, 
lightly.  "  Seven  years  is  a  very  long  time." 

"  So  much  the  better.  It  gives  a  man  like  me 
time  to  attain  a  position  worthy  of  a  woman  like 
you." 

"  Oh,  position,  rank,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  what 
are  they,  after  all  ?  Have  you  heard  what  the 
Empress  of  Russia  said  to  Monsieur  Diderot  ?  You 
know  that  by  devoting  himself  to  the  encyclopaedia, 
Monsieur  Diderot  has  kept  himself  poor,  and  his 
threadbare  coat  is  no  affectation.  Well,  Catherine 
II.,  aware  of  this,  and  appreciating  the  great  sacrifice 
made  in  the  interest  of  knowledge,  bought  Monsieur 
Diderot's  library  at  a  fine  price,  and  then  ordered  it 
left  in  Paris,  and  appointed  him  her  librarian  to  take 
care  of  it.  Monsieur  Diderot  went  to  St.  Petersburg 
four  years  ago,  to  thank  her  in  person,  and  while  he 
was  there  Catherine  and  he  got  into  many  disputes 
on  questions  of  philosophy.  One  day  Diderot  hinted 
that  he  was  at  a  disadvantage  in  arguing  with  the 
Empress  of  all  the  Russias.  '  Nonsense,'  said 
Catherine,  '  is  there  any  difference  between  men  ? ' ' 

Dick  sighed,  perceiving  that  she  had  sought  to 
divert  him  from  the  topic  he  had  broached.  He 
rowed  back  to  St.  Denis  that  evening  an  unmistak 
ably  love-sick  youth.  He  could  hardly  wait  for  the 
next  afternoon,  that  he  might  renew  the  subject  at 
any  hazard. 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY.  413 

On  the  morrow,  to  his  dismay,  the  sky  was  dark, 
and  chill  winds  were  blowing.  Spring,  having  thrust 
her  sunny  face  in  at  the  door  too  soon,  had  been 
frightened  far  away,  and  might  never  have  been  pres 
ent,  so  different  was  to-day's  world  from  yester 
day's.  Dick  resolved,  nevertheless,  to  make  his  usual 
voyage. 

Rain  had  already  begun  to  fall  on  the  agitated 
surface  of  the  river,  when  he  landed  at  the  park. 
He  hastened  to  the  lodge  and  found  it  empty.  How 
bleak  and  utterly  forlorn  the  place  now  seemed  ! 
How  disconsolate  in  heart  was  Dick !  Well,  he 
ought  not  to  have  expected  her  on  such  a  day. 
He  gazed  with  a  heavy  sigh  at  the  spot  where 
she  usually  sat. 

What  was  that  white  thing,  lying  under  a  pebble,  on 
that  very  spot  ?  Dick  seized  it  eagerly,  saw  the  name 
"  Silvius"  written  on  it,  opened  it  out  hastily  with 
trembling  fingers.  It  was  indeed  a  note,  written  in 
a  charming  hand,  and  signed  "  Amaryllis."  His  dis 
appointment  turned  to  gladness, — for  the  first  sight 
of  the  beloved's  handwriting,  addressed  to  oneself,  is 
as  good  as  an  interview,  —  and  he  read  : 

"  For  a  few  days  I  must  be  away,  yet  Silvius  will  come  as 
usual  to  the  lodge,  will  he  not  ?  On  the  day  of  her  return,  he 
will  find  Amaryllis  waiting.  Since  I  last  saw  Silvius  I  have 
been  thinking.  It  is  true,  seven  years  is  not  a  very  long 
time!" 


414  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

One  knows,  without  being  told,  what  demonstra 
tions  Silvius  made  over  this  letter,  how  often  he 
re-read  it,  what  other  things  he  did  to  it,  and  where 
he  finally  bestowed  it  as  he  returned  to  his  boat  to 
row  back  to  St.  Denis.  He  scarcely  knew  what  he 
was  doing,  as  he  pulled  his  boat  out  into  the  current, 
or  how  disturbed  the  river  was,  how  heavily  the  rain 
came  down.  So  overjoyed  was  he  by  the  promise 
contained  in  the  last  line  of  the  letter,  that  he  was 
not  cognizant  of  outward  circumstances  until  he  was 
half-way  between  St.  Ouen  and  St.  Denis.  Then  he 
became  aware  of  the  work  of  wind  and  water.  He 
saw,  moreover,  that  the  day  was  as  dark  as  late 
evening,  and  that  all  signs  were  growing  more 
threatening  every  minute. 

"  The  devil ! "  thought  he.  "  This  is  not  a 
time  for  taking  chances,  now  that  such  pros 
pects  await  me.  I  must  guard  my  life  and 
health,  and  achieve  great  things  during  those  seven 
years." 

He  therefore  rowed  to  an  old,  abandoned  landing, 
which  led  to  a  ruined  garden,  within  whose  crum 
bling  walls  stood  a  deserted  house  of  rough  gray 
stone.  On  Dick's  first  row  up  the  river,  he  had 
been  told  by  the  boatman  that  this  house  had  long 
been  unoccupied. 

Making  his  boat  fast  to  a  wooden  spile,  Dick 
went  through  the  half  unhinged,  half  opened  gate 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY.  415 

which  was  partly  sunk  into  the  earth,  and  up  the 
weed-grown  garden  walk,  to  the  house.  The  door 
yielded  to  his  pressure,  and  he  passed  through  a 
bare,  dark,  damp,  mouldy  corridor,  into  a  room 
whose  windows  opened  on  the  garden.  Though 
otherwise  empty,  this  room  contained  an  old  oak 
table,  and  several  rough  wooden  chairs.  Dick  sat 
down  and  waited  for  the  storm  to  abate. 

The  doors  and  windows  creaked,  the  wind  sighed 
through  the  corridors  and  chambers  overhead,  the 
rains  beat  on  what  glass  remained  in  the  casements. 
But  what  was  that  other  sound  ?  Surely  it  was  of 
the  footsteps  of  men.  Peering  through  the  window, 
Dick  saw  forms  approaching  through  the  shrubbery, 
from  a  small  side  gate  in  the  garden  wall.  These 
were,  doubtless,  the  last  of  a  party  whose  foremost 
members  were  already  in  the  corridor. 

The  intruders  came  cautiously,  but  as  if  familiar 
with  the  place.  Evidently  some  organized  meeting 
was  at  hand  in  this  empty  house.  Dick  noticed  the 
chairs  and  table  anew.  What  were  these  men  ?  A 
social  club,  a  gang  of  thieves,  or  a  band  of  con 
spirators  ?  In  any  one  of  these  cases  Dick  felt  that 
he  would  be  de  trop.  Manifestly  the  men  were  ap 
proaching  the  room  in  which  he  sat.  They  were 
already  too  near  the  door  for  him  to  escape  unseen 
by  the  corridor.  So  he  slipped  into  the  wide,  empty 
fireplace  with  which  the  room  was  provided,  and 


416  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

whose  rear  was  quite  in  shadow.  A  moment  later 
three  men  entered  the  room. 

Each  took  from  beneath  his  cloak  a  bundle 
wrapped  in  cloth,  and  laid  it  on  the  table,  then  sat 
down  and  waited.  Other  men  arrived,  almost  imme 
diately,  and  the  number  kept  increasing  at  short 
intervals  until  perhaps  fifteen  were  gathered.  Their 
conversation  so  far  had  consisted  of  brief  remarks 
about  the  weather.  They  now  sat  in  an  irregular 
semicircle,  facing  the  table.  The  man  who  had  first 
entered  arose  and  opened  the  bundles.  The  gray 
light  of  the  stormy  afternoon  disclosed  the  con 
tents  of  these  bundles  as  three  swords  and  several 
pistols. 

"  Messieurs,"  said  the  man  who  had  risen,  —  an 
erect,  powerful,  handsome  man  of  thirty,  —  "the 
hour  is  almost  at  hand.  That  all  of  us  may  par 
ticipate  in  the  intention,  though  but  one  of  us  may 
strike  the  blow,  I  am  to  describe  fully  the  plan 
agreed  upon  by  the  Committee  of  Three.  As  each 
one  of  us  is  potentially  the  chosen  arm  of  the 
Brotherhood  in  this  honorable  deed,  it  behooves 
each  one  to  attend  every  detail  as  if  he  were,  in 
fact,  already  the  selected  instrument." 

The  men  sat  in  perfect  silence,  their  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  speaker,  every  attitude  being  that  of 
breathless  attention. 

"  In  this  silken  bag,"  continued  the  orator,  produc- 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY. 

ing  from  beneath  his  cloak  that  which  he  mentioned, 
"  are  a  number  of  beans.  One  of  them  is  red,  four 
are  black,  the  others  white.  As  soon  as  the  plan  of 
action  shall  have  been  made  known,  each  man  shall 
draw  from  the  bag  a  single  bean,  in  the  order  in 
which  his  name  appears  on  our  list.  When  all  have 
drawn,  and  not  till  then,  each  man  shall  disclose  his 
bean  to  view  at  the  table.  The  possessor  of  the  red 
bean  will  be  God's  choice  for  the  performance  of  this 
holy  mission.  He  shall  choose  one  of  these  swords, 
which  differ  in  weight  and  size,  though  all  have  been 
blessed  and  devoted  to  our  righteous  purpose.  The 
four  who  hold  black  beans  shall  guide  and  guard 
the  chosen  instrument,  both  to  protect  him,  and  to 
assure  the  Brotherhood  against  the  consequences  of 
any  possible  weakness  on  his  part.  The  holders 
of  the  white  beans  shall  not  act  in  the  present  task ; 
but,  in  the  improbable  event  of  its  failure,  the  whole 
Brotherhood  shall  assist  the  four,  if  necessary,  as 
avengers  against  the  brother  who  will  have  failed, 
as  spies  to  seek  him  out  should  he  hide,  as  hounds 
upon  his  track  should  he  flee,  as  executioners  to 
compass  his  death  when  he  is  brought  before  us. 
Is  it  agreed  ?  " 

"  Agreed !  "  said  every  man,  resolutely,  with 
clenched  fingers,  set  teeth,  and  gleaming  eyes. 

"The  procedure  shall  be  in  this  wise,"  went  on 
the  leader.  "  In  an  hour,  a  carriage  will  be  waiting 


41 8  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

outside  the  gate  of  this  garden.  The  chosen  man, 
armed  with  the  sword,  shall  be  conducted  to  it  by 
the  four,  each  provided  with  tw6  of  these  pistols. 
Two  of  the  four  shall  enter  the  carriage  with  him, 
the  other  two  shall  take  the  place  of  the  coachman, 
who  will  be  dismissed.  The  carriage  shall  set  forth 
at  once.  The  Committee  of  Three  has  provided 
already  for  its  passage  through  the  barrier,  unhin 
dered  by  the  revenue  collectors.  The  carriage  will 
proceed  through  the  Faubourg  de  St.  Denis,  cross 
the  boulevard,  turn  into  the  Rue  Clery,  and  so  con 
tinue  to  the  corner  of  the  Rue  du  Petit  Carreau,  at 
which  corner,  as  we  all  know,  the  house  is  situated. 
The  two  gentlemen  of  the  black  bean,  in  the  car 
riage,  shall  accompany  him  of  the  red  bean  to  the 
door,  their  hands  upon  their  pistols  beneath  their 
cloaks.  When  the  servant  responds  to  their  knock, 
the  chosen  man  shall  give  the  name  of  Victor  Mayet, 
and  say  that  he  must  see  Monsieur  Necker  immedi 
ately.  Victor  Mayet  is  a  clerk  in  the  General  Con 
trol  Office,  and  Necker  will  suppose  he  comes  on 
a  matter  of  urgent  importance.  Necker  also  will 
surely  receive  him  alone.  When  the  man  enters, 
his  two  comrades  shall  return  to  the  carriage,  and 
wait  for  his  reappearance.  The  man  himself  will 
keep  his  sword  concealed  until  he  is  alone  with 
Necker.  At  that  moment,  taking  our  enemy  by 
surprise,  he  will  thrust  his  sword  into  Necker's  body 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY.  419 

as  many  times  as  may  be  necessary  to  assure  its 
reaching  a  vital  spot.  So  shall  fall  the  haughty 
bourgeois  Protestant,  whom  the  King  in  his  blind 
ness  has  raised  to  the  most  powerful  post  in  the 
land,  and  would  doubtless  soon,  but  for  our  inter 
vention,  raise  higher ;  thus  shall  God's  holy  religion 
and  the  nobility  of  France  obtain  revenge  and 
triumph  at  our  hands." 

There  were  murmurs  of  applause,  repressed  ex 
clamations  of  "  Vive  le  roi!"  and  other  signs  of 
intense  enthusiasm. 

"  Then,  messieurs,  he  whose  arm  shall  have  struck 
this  glorious  blow,  shall  hasten  back  to  the  carriage, 
and  it  shall  be  driven  at  once  to  my  lodgings  in  the 
Rue  St.  Honore,  which,  though  not  large  enough 
for  such  meetings  as  this,  will  serve  as  a  hiding- 
place  for  the  five  gentlemen  until  news  comes,  from 
other  sources  than  the  chosen  man  himself,  of  the 
death  of  Necker.  When  such  news  comes,  the  four 
guards  shall  release  the  happy  Instrument  of  the 
Brotherhood.  Until  such  news  comes,  they  shall 
guard  him  unremittingly ;  and,  if  it  turn  out  that 
Necker  still  lives,  the  man  who  ought  to  have  slain 
him  shall  die  in  his  place,  at  the  hands  of  the  four. 
Thus  are  we  assured  against  treason,  weakness,  or 
bungling,  on  the  part  of  him  whom  God,  in  the  guise 
of  chance,  shall  elect  to  do  our  Brotherhood  and 
France  this  service.  Messieurs,  each  of  you  re- 


42O  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

membering  that  the  red  bean  or  a  black  one  may 
fall  to  him,  are  you  still  agreed  ?" 

The  expressions  of  assent  were  as  prompt  and 
determined  as  before. 

"  Let  us  proceed  at  once  to  the  drawing,"  said  the 
leader. 

"  Pardon,  brother,"  spoke  up  another.  "  It  is  so 
dark  that,  when  we  come  to  show  what  beans  we 
have  drawn,  we  shall  hardly  be  able  to  distinguish 
the  colors." 

"  Bring  the  candles,  then,  from  the  mantel  to  the 
table,  and  light  them,"  said  the  leader. 

Dick's  heart  underwent  a  sudden  jump.  Two 
men  came  straight  for  the  fireplace.  Accustomed, 
now,  to  the  half  darkness  of  the  room,  both  descried 
his  form  vaguely,  and  at  the  same  moment.  "The 
devil !  A  spy ! "  cried  one.  The  other  drew  a 
pistol  of  his  own,  and  instantly  brought  it  to  bear. 

"  One  moment !  "  cried  Dick,  stepping  forth.  "  I 
am  an  unintentional  intruder.  Rather,  it  was  you 
that  intruded  upon  me.  I  had  sought  shelter  here 
from  the  rain,  when  I  heard  you  coming.  Foolishly, 
thinking  this  might  be  a  refuge  of  thieves,  I  hid  in 
the  fireplace,  hoping  to  remain  unseen  till  you  had 
gone." 

The  assembled  men,  all  of  whom  had  risen,  looked 
at  Dick  and  then  at  one  another. 

"I  quite  believe  you,  monsieur,"  said  the  speaker 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY.  421 

of  the  meeting,  courteously,  after  some  moments, 
"  not  only  because  it  is  my  gift  to  perceive  when  a 
man  is  telling  the  truth,  but  also  because  a  spy 
would  be  sure  of  discovery  in  such  a  hiding-place. 
Nevertheless,  you  have  overheard  everything  that 
has  been  said  here  this  afternoon." 

"  How  could  I  avoid  doing  so  ? "  said  Dick. 

"  I  do  not  say  it  was  a  fault  on  your  part  to  over 
hear,  monsieur,"  said  the  other,  whose  authority 
over  his  comrades  was  manifestly  so  complete  that 
they  left  the  present  matter  entirely  to  him,  only 
waiting  with  silent  attention  to  carry  out  what  orders 
he  might  give.  "  But  what  you  have  heard,  you 
would  doubtless  feel  called  upon,  sooner  or  later,  to 
reveal,  unless  you  were  entirely  of  the  same  mind 
with  us." 

Here  he  paused,  but  Dick  said  nothing,  for  Dick 
did  not  choose  to  risk  certain  death  by  admitting 
that  he  would  feel  so  called  upon.  After  a  moment, 
during  which  the  speaker  seemed  to  read  Dick's 
thoughts,  he  went  on  : 

"  You  might  give  us  an  assurance  that  you  would 
remember  nothing  of  what  has  passed  here,  but  how 
could  we  let  you  go,  on  that  assurance,  monsieur  ? 
For,  if  you  secretly  meant  to  betray  us,  you  would 
feel  justified  in  giving  that  assurance,  for  the  sake  of 
your  life  and  of  defeating  our  purpose.  Or,  you 
might  give  your  word  in  all  honesty,  and  yet  at  some 


422  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

future  time  feel  justified  in  breaking  it.  You  can 
plainly  see,  monsieur,  that  there  is  nothing  for  us  to 
do  but  to  kill  you  on  the  spot  —  " 

Dick  read  the  quiet  resolution  in  the  speaker's 
eyes,  and  the  more  impetuous  determination  in  the 
eyes  of  the  others  ;  considered  his  unarmed  condi 
tion  and  the  utter  impossibility  of  a  rush  through 
the  line  of  stalwart  forms  that  encircled  him  ;  and 
thought  of  Amaryllis,  the  seven  years,  and  the  long 
and  brilliant  future  that  seemed  about  to  burst  like 
a  soap-bubble  in  a  moment. 

"  Or  to  receive  you  as  a  member  of  our  Brother 
hood,"  concluded  the  leader,  calmly.  Used  to  judg 
ing  men  instantly,  he  had  doubtless  estimated  Dick 
as  a  gentleman  worthy  of  membership. 

Forgetting  for  the  moment  what  this  alternative 
entailed,  seeing  only  the  unexpected  chance  of  life 
held  out,  Dick  instantly  grasped  at  the  latter. 
"Very  well,  I  will  join,"  he  said. 

But  the  matter  had  to  be  thoroughly  considered 
by  the  assembly,  and  there  was  a  careful  discussion 
of  it  for  half  an  hour,  while  Dick  sat  silent  before 
the  table,  on  which,  in  the  meantime,  candles  had 
been  placed  and  lighted.  During  this  talk,  he 
began  to  realize  all  that  he  was  taking  on  himself  in 
joining  what  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  secret 
society,  whose  present  purpose  was  assassination. 
But  a  man  with  his  life  in  his  hand  must  seize  the 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY.  423 

first  means  of  gaining  time  that  offers,  and  face,  each 
consequence  when  it  occurs.  The  chances  were  in 
favor  of  his  having  nothing  to  do  with  the  sanguinary 
affair  to  be  immediately  attempted ;  and  he  could 
probably  give  the  Brotherhood  the  slip  in  the  near 
future.  In  any  case,  it  was  impossible  to  prevent 
the  attempt  now  under  way,  and  the  question  as  to 
whether  he  should  eventually  expose  that  attempt, 
was  a  river  not  to  be  crossed  till  he  should  come  to 
it.  Perhaps,  after  all,  this  Necker,  whose  name  he 
knew  only  as  that  of  Councillor  of  Finance  and  Gen 
eral  Director  of  the  Royal  Treasury,  was  a  rascal 
who  merited  death,  as  many  public  officials  did ;  cer 
tainly  the  Brotherhood  showed  a  humane  disposition 
in  considering  an  alternative  by  which  Dick's  life 
might  be  saved.  Perhaps  the  removal  of  their  chosen 
victim,  even  by  death,  would  benefit  humanity,  —  so 
little  was  Dick  acquainted  with  matters  of  state. 

Well,  it  was  decided  to  admit  him.  He  had  to 
repeat  a  long  oath  after  the  leader,  kiss  one  of  the 
swords,  which,  having  been  blessed,  served  in  place 
of  a  Bible,  and  sign  his  name  at  the  foot  of  a  list 
that  the  secretary  produced  from  a  leather  bag,  which 
that  officer  carried  to  and  from  the  meetings,  and 
which  contained  materials  for  what  few  records  the 
society  required. 

"And  now,"  said  the  leader,  "it  is  growing  late. 
The  carriage  will  be  at  the  gate  at  any  moment. 


424  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Let  us  draw  for  the  honor  that  God  holds  ready  for 
one  of  us." 

He  held  the  bag  in  his  left  hand,  and  thrust  his 
right  hand  inside ;  when  he  withdrew  the  latter,  he 
kept  it  closed,  and  passed  silently,  with  the  bag, 
from  man  to  man  ;  knowing,  without  reference  to 
the  list,  in  what  order  their  names  stood.  Before 
this,  he  had  put  an  additional  white  bean  into  the 
bag,  having  been  provided  with  several  surplus  ones. 
Each  man  kept  his  hand  closed  on  withdrawing  it. 
When  the  bag  reached  Dick,  there  was  only  one 
bean  left.  He  did  as  the  others  had  done.  Then, 
not  a  word  being  said,  the  leader  laid  aside  the  bag, 
and  all  pressed  close  to  the  table,  which  they  quite 
surrounded.  Every  right  hand  was  laid  out,  palm 
down,  on  the  bare  oak  surface.  The  leader  was  the 
first  to  disclose. 

"  A  black  bean  !  "  he  cried.  "  That  is  something, 
at  least !  Who  has  the  red  one  ?  " 

Every  eye  turned  with  intense  eagerness,  from 
the  bean  immediately  before  it,  to  the  beans  right  and 
left,  —  every  eye  but  Dick  Wetheral's,  that  is  to  say, 
for  his  remained  fastened,  with  a  kind  of  mild  aston 
ishment,  on  the  palm  of  his  hand,  whereon  lay  a  bean 
that  was  red. 

"  Come,  brother,"  the  leader  was  saying,  when 
Dick  at  last  looked  up.  "  Choose  a  sword.  I  hear 
the  carriage  at  the  gate." 


PASTORAL   AND    TRAGEDY.  42$ 

Before  he  had  recovered  from  his  bewilderment, 
Dick  was  passing  through  the  rain,  towards  the 
gate,  clasping  one  of  the  swords  tightly  beneath  his 
coat.  At  his  right  arm  was  the  leader,  who  carried 
one  of  the  other  two  swords,  as  well  as  a  pistol  in 
each  outer  pocket ;  at  the  left  arm  was  a  second 
man,  similarly  armed.  Two  other  men  mounted  the 
coachman's  place. 

"  Which  way,  monsieur  ? "  said  one  of  these  latter, 
in  joking  imitation  of  a  driver,  when  Dick  and  his 
guards  were  seated  in  the  dark  carriage. 

"  The  road  to  Paris,"  said  the  leader,  and  drew  the 
coach  door  after  him  with  a  bang. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"STONE    WALLS    DO    NOT    A    PRISON    MAKE." 

THE  chill  and  rainy  afternoon  gave  way  to  an 
evening  as  rainy  and  more  chill.  The  carriage 
rolled  southward,  past  St.  Ouen,  and  still  on.  Those 
inside  spoke  not  a  word.  The  men  on  the  coach 
man's  seat  protected  themselves  from  the  rain  with 
their  cloaks  as  best  they  could,  and  ifttered  no  com 
plaint.  Dick  could  see  nothing  through  the  carriage 
window,  against  the  dark  sky,  but  the  darker  forms 
of  trees  and  buildings  gliding  by.  He  had  too  much 
else  on  his  mind  to  appreciate  the  fact  that  he  was 
at  last  about  to  enter  Paris,  the  goal  of  his  dream- 
journeys  in  childhood.  At  first  he  was  in  a  kind  of 
stupor,  and  felt  like  one  hurled  through  increasing 
darkness  towards  blackest  night,  there  to  meet  anni 
hilation.  Then  his  mind  began  to  work,  and  soon 
was  in  a  whirl.  Assassination,  —  he  shrank  from  it 
with  disgust  and  horror.  The  alternative,  death,  — 
he  recoiled  from  the  idea,  as  youth  and  hope  ever 
must  recoil.  Was  there  no  middle  course  ?  He 
racked  his  brain  to  find  one ;  he  found  it  not,  yet 
still  he  racked  his  brain. 

426 


"STONE   WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE.  "    427 

It  was  quite  dark  now,  and  they  had  passed  the 
outer  barrier  without  Dick's  noting  the  fact.  But 
the  houses,  now  close  together  and  of  different  char 
acter  from  those  of  the  village  of  La  Chapelle,  in 
dicated  that  the  carriage  must  be  in  the  faubourg, 
at  least.  Presently  Dick  perceived  that  they  were 
passing  beneath  a  great  arch  (it  was  the  Porte  St. 
Denis,  erected  under  Louis  XIV.,  though  Dick  knew 
it  not)  ;  then  that  they  turned  to  the  right,  and,  a 
minute  later,  obliquely  to  the  left,  finally  proceeding 
along  a  slightly  narrower  street  than  they  had  already 
traversed.  A  movement  on  the  part  of  the  man  at 
Ins  right  seemed  to  indicate  that  the  destination  was 
near  at  hand.  They  were  indeed  in  the  Rue  Clery, 
and  approaching  the  Rue  du  Petit  Carreau,  although 

the  dark  streets  were  nameless  to  Dick.     Suddenly 

he  had  an   idea.     He  gave   a   start,  as  if   he   had 

awakened  from  a  feverish  sleep. 

"Messieurs,"  he  said,  in  a  half  terrified  tone,  "I 

have  had  a  remarkable  dream,  a  wonderfully  vivid 

one,  though  I  have  not  for  a  moment  lost  sense  of 

my  being  with  you  in  this  carriage." 

"  It  is  the  time  for  acts  now,  not  for  dreams,"  said 

the  leader  of  the  Brotherhood. 

"  But  this  dream  concerns  the  act,"  said  Dick,  in 

an  awe-stricken  manner.     "It  was   rather  a  vision 

than  a  dream.      I  felt,  and  feel  now,  as  if  it  were  a 

message  from  above." 


428  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"  Let  us  hear  it,  then,"  said  the  leader. 

"  I  dreamt  all  had  been  carried  out  as  planned,  up 
to  the  moment  of  my  striking  the  blow.  And  then 
the  man  caught  the  sword  entering  his  body,  and 
broke  it  in  two,  though  the  hilt  was  still  in  my  hand. 
He  drew  the  point  from  his  side,  and  stood,  very 
little  wounded,  before  me,  while  I  looked  around  in 
vain  for  another  weapon." 

"A  message  from  God,  perhaps,"  said  the  leader, 
"  to  put  you  on  your  guard  against  such  an  out 
come." 

"  But,  monsieur,  I  had  this  dream  a  second  time, 
and  then  a  third,  and  it  was  always  precisely  the 
same." 

"  It  warns  you  to  make  the  first  thrust  sure  and 
deep,  and  to  give  him  no  opportunity  of  grasping 
your  sword." 

"  I  think,  rather,  it  warns  me  to  provide  myself 
with  a  second  sword.  My  keenest  impression  in  the 
dream  was  of  chagrin  at  finding  myself  without  a 
second  weapon  after  the  first  had  become  useless." 

"  You  are  doubtless  right,"  said  the  leader.  "  One 
to  whom  a  revelation  is  given  is  the  best  judge  of 
its  meaning.  Buckle  on  one  of  these  swords,  in 
addition  to  the  one  you  have." 

Dick  did  as  he  was  bid.  A  moment  later  the 
carriage  stopped,  close  to  the  wall  of  a  house  at 
the  left  side  of  the  street, — for  Paris  had  not  foot- 


"STONE   WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE."    429 

ways  then,  as  London  had,  and  coaches  went  as  near 
the  walls  as  their  drivers  pleased  to  take  them. 

One  of  Dick's  guards  got  out,  Dick  followed,  the 
leader  came  last.  Dick  could  see  that  these  two 
grasped  their  pistols  beneath  their  cloaks.  He  was 
before  a  large  and  imposing  house  with  a  rounded 
facade.  Lights  shone  through  some  of  the  windows. 
His  two  guards  led  him  to  the  door,  and  one  of  them 
knocked.  The  time  seemed  incredibly  long  till  the 
servant  came. 

"  Monsieur  Victor  Mayet,  clerk  in  the  General 
Control  Office,  begs  an  immediate  interview  with 
Monsieur  Necker,  regarding  a  matter  of  the  utmost 
importance,"  said  Dick,  with  a  steadiness  that  sur 
prised  himself.  The  servant  went  away.  Another, 
and  seemingly  longer,  interval  ensued.  At  last  the 
servant  came  back  and  told  Dick  to  follow. 

Dick  stepped  forward,  and  his  two  guards  returned 
to  the  coach.  The  servant  showed  the  way  up  a 
staircase  with  a  handsome  balustrade,  and  thence 
through  one  of  the  doors  that  opened  from  the  corri 
dor,  to  a  rich  and  elegant  apartment,  its  ceiling 
painted  with  mythological  pictures,  its  walls  deco 
rated  with  arabesques  and  medallions.  At  a  magnifi 
cently  carved  and  ornamented  desk  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room,  sat  a  gentleman  of  striking  appear 
ance,  slender  and  noble-looking,  but  haughty  and 
stiff.  The  splendid  armchair  in  which  he  sat  was 


43°  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

turned  sidewise  towards  the  desk,  so  that  the  gentle 
man,  who  leaned  upon  one  elbow,  faced  Dick  as  the 
latter  entered.  Dick  stood  at  a  distance,  and  bowed 
low,  the  distance  being  warranted  by  the  singularly 
cold  look  of  the  gentleman  in  the  chair.  It  served, 
in  the  soft  candle-light,  to  keep  Dick's  features 
vague. 

Dick  cast  a  look  at  the  servant,  whereupon  the 
gentleman  motioned  the  latter  from  the  room.  Then, 
his  coat  still  clutched  tight  over  his  swords,  Dick 
said  : 

"  Is  it  Monsieur  Necker  I  have  the  honor  of 
addressing? " 

"  If  you  are  a  clerk  in  the  General  Control  Office 
you  must  know  that  it  is,"  said  the  gentleman,  in  a 
dry  tone. 

"  But  I  am  not  a  clerk  in  the  General  Control 
Office,"  said  Dick,  quietly.  "  I  am,  through  a  strange 
accident,  the  chosen  instrument  of  a  secret  society 
whose  object  is  to  kill  you.  Don't  think  I  am  a 
madman.  What  I  say  is  perfectly  true.  I  have 
taken  an  oath  that  requires  me  to  make  an  attempt 
upon  your  life.  But  that  obligation,  through  lack  of 
foresight,  does  not  forbid  my  giving  you  means  of 
defending  yourself  ;  therefore,"  and  here  Dick  opened 
wide  his  coat,  and  held  forth  a  sword,  "  I  offer  you 
one  of  these  swords,  and  beg  you  to  stand  on  guard. 
Don't  call  for  help.  If  you  do  that,  I  must  save 


;OH,    YOU    HAVE    A    VISITOR.1       MON    DIEU,    SILVIUS  !  '  " 


"STONE  WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE.  "    43  I 

myself  by  having  at  you  immediately.  Take  the 
sword,  I  advise  you,  for  I  certainly  intend  to  attack 
you." 

Monsieur  Necker  had  risen,  and  he  stood  looking 
at  Dick  in  the  most  profound  astonishment. 

"  Why  do  you  keep  us  waiting,  papa  ? "  came  a 
voice  from  a  suddenly  opened  doorway,  and  a  mo 
ment  later  a  slender  figure  followed  the  voice  into 
the  room.  "  Oh,  you  have  a  visitor !  Man  Dieu, 
Silvius  !  " 

"  Mon  Dieu,  Amaryllis  !  "  Dick's  lips  went  through 
the  motions  of  these  words,  but  what  he  uttered  were 
rather  the  shadows  or  ghosts  of  words  than  words 
themselves.  He  continued  unconsciously  to  hold 
out  the  sword  towards  her  father,  while  gazing  at 
her. 

"  What  does  it  mean,  papa  ? "  she  asked,  in  a 
hushed  voice  that  betokened  vague  alarm.  "  Silvius, 
what  are  you  doing  with  those  swords  ? " 

Dick's  wits  returned.  "  Cannot  you  see,  made 
moiselle  ?  I  have  been  chosen  by  a  certain  society  to 
make  your  father  a  present  of  them,  in  token  of  the 
society's  feelings  towards  him."  Whereupon  Dick, 
to  show  Necker  that  everything  had  been  changed 
by  the  revelation  that  he  was  Germaine's  father, 
moved  courteously  to  the  desk,  laid  both  swords 
thereon,  and  stepped  back. 

"  Leave  us  alone,  my  child,"  said  Necker,  gently ; 


432  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"and  beg  your  mother  to  grant  me  another  half- 
hour." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  girl,  and  then,  still  some 
what  puzzled,  but  with  a  parting  smile  for  both 
Dick  and  her  father,  she  disappeared  through  the 
doorway. 

"  And  now  you  will  be  good  enough  to  explain  this 
scene  ? "  said  Necker,  in  a  tone  of  authority,  having 
put  himself  between  the  swords  and  Dick. 

"  All  that  I  said,  before  the  arrival  of  mademoi 
selle,  was  perfectly  true,"  replied  Dick.  "  But  now 
that  I  find  you  are  her  father,  what  I  proposed  is 
impossible." 

"  It  is  strange  you  should  have  known  my  daugh 
ter  and  not  known  who  her  father  was." 

"  I  made  her  acquaintance  at  some  children's 
games,  and  without  learning  her  name." 

"That  a  youth  who  amuses  himself  at  children's 
games  should  amuse  himself  also  by  belonging  to 
an  assassination  society,  is  a  novel  idea,  to  say  the 
least." 

"  It  is  a  very  strange  story,  monsieur.  But  if  you 
will  take  the  trouble  to  look  out  into  the  street, 
you  will  see  a  carriage  waiting ;  with  it  are  four  men 
who  must  be  already  impatient  for  my  return  to 
them.  When  I  do  return,  if  I  tell  them  you  are 
alive, -they  will  kill  me.  If  I  tell  them  you  are  dead, 
they  will  guard  me  closely  while  they  await  confir- 


"STONE  WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE."     433 

mation  through  the  public  news.  When  they  find  that 
I  lied,  they  will  kill  me." 

"  It  begins  to  appear  as  if  these  men  ought  to  be 
arrested,"  said  Necker,  ringing  a  bell.  He  then  sat 
down  at  the  desk  and  wrote  a  note,  Dick  standing 
all  the  while  at  a  respectful  distance.  A  servant 
entered,  and,  in  response  to  a  slight  gesture  from 
Necker,  went  close  to  the  latter,  and  received  some 
low-spoken  instructions,  of  which  Dick  caught  only 
the  word  "police."  The  servant  then  took  the  note, 
and  hastened  from  the  room.  Throughout  this  time, 
Necker  had  kept  an  oblique  glance  on  Dick. 

Now  that  he  had  not  only  saved  Germaine's  father 
on  the  present  occasion  but  had  also  given  him  warn 
ing  against  future  attempts,  Dick  had  no  mind  to 
betray  the  Brotherhood  further.  He  saw  himself 
between  Scylla  and  Charybdis.  On  the  one  hand 
was  the  danger  of  his  being  called  upon  to  figure  as 
a  witness  against  men  who  had  spared  his  own  life, 
and  of  being  mistaken  by  the  world  as  a  common 
informer.  On  the  other  hand  was  the  probability 
of  his  being  sought  and  punished  with  death  by  the 
Brotherhood,  for,  though  four  of  its  members  might 
be  arrested,  there  remained  a  dozen  others  as  reso 
lute,  to  hunt  him  down  wherever  he  should  take 
refuge. 

Monsieur  Necker  "began  to  question  him,  but 
he  refused  to  disclose  the  slightest  additional  fact 


434  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

regarding  the  society.  "  It  is  enough,"  said  Dick, 
"  that  its  purpose  is  defeated  through  your  being 
now  on  your  guard  for  the  future."  He  gave  his 
name,  though,  with  his  St.  Denis  abode,  and  Necker 
made  a  note  of  them. 

.  From  the  street  below  came  the  sound  of  a  pistol- 
shot,  and  then  of  a  carriage  rattling  off  over  the 
stones.  Necker  flung  open  a  window,  and  saw 
the  carriage  fleeing  in  one  direction,  his  own  ser 
vant  in  another.  As  Dick  guessed,  his  guards  had 
divined  the  errand  of  the  servant  leaving  the  house 
by  a  side  door,  and  had  sought  their  own  safety,  after 
having  vainly  tried  to  stop  the  messenger  with  a 
shot.  It  was  a  relief  to  Dick  to  know  that  the  four 
were  thus  out  of  danger  of  arrest. 

Seeing  the  present  futility  of  questions,  Necker 
took  up  the  matter  of  Dick's  own  future  safety  from 
the  Brotherhood.  The  two  were  in  the  midst  of  this 
discussion,  when  the  tramp  of  several  men  was  heard 
on  the  staircase,  then  in  the  corridor.  Necker's  face 
took  on  a  peculiar  light  as  the  door  opened  and  in 
came  a  uniformed  official,  followed  by  a  squad  of 
armed  men  and  conducted  by  the  servant  who  had 
been  sent  with  the  note. 

"A  moment,  monsieur,"  said  Necker  to  the  officer, 
whereupon  the  newcomers  all  bowed  and  stood  still. 
Necker  proceeded  to  fill  in  the  blank  spaces  of  a 
document  he  had  meanwhile  taken  from  a  drawer  in 


"STONE   WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE."    435 

his  desk,  and  to  which  a  signature  and  seal  were 
already  affixed.  He  then  held  this  out  to  the  officer, 
who  advanced  to  take  it. 

"  You  will  send  four  of  your  men  immediately  as 
this  gentleman's  escort,  to  the  place  mentioned  in 
that  order,"  said  Necker,  speaking  to  the  officer,  but 
motioning  towards  Dick.  "  As  for  you  and  the  rest 
of  your  force,  remain  here,  —  I  shall  have  work  for 
you." 

While  the  officer,  having  read  the  written  order, 
gave  it  with  some  whispered  directions  to  one  of  his 
men,  Necker  addressed  Dick  thus  : 

"  Young  gentleman,  you  will  not  have  to  fear  any 
present  danger  from  this  well-disposed  society  of 
which  you  have  spoken.  The  place  to  which  you 
are  about  to'  be  conducted  will  be  a  safe  refuge.  I 
feel  it  is  my  duty  to  provide  for  your  protection  in 
this  manner." 

"  I  thank  you,  monsieur,"  said  Dick,  bowing. 

The  man  who  now  held  the  written  order,  politely 
motioned  Dick  to  go  before  him  from  the  room. 
Preceded  by  two  men,  and  followed  by  two,  Dick 
went  down  the  staircase  and  out  to  the  rain-beaten 
street.  There  the  party  waited,  while  one  of  the 
men  hastened  off  on  some  errand.  He  soon  returned, 
sitting  beside  the  driver,  on  a  large  carriage.  The 
man  in  authority  opened  the  carriage  door,  sent  one 
comrade  inside,  then  courteously  begged  Dick  to 


436  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

enter,  then  followed  in  turn,  and  was  finally  joined 
by  his  remaining  comrade.  The  man  with  the  driver 
remained  where  he  was.  The  man  in  command 
thrust  his  head  out  and  shouted  the  destination  to 
the  driver,  then  closed  the  door.  Dick  gave  a 
violent  start. 

"To  the  Bastile,"  was  what  the  man  had  called 
out. 

Why  had  Dick  not  thought  of  this  possibility 
sooner  ?  —  he  asked  himself.  There  were  two  very 
obvious  reasons,  if  not  more,  why  Necker  should 
wish  to  keep  him  caged.  First,  imprisonment  might 
induce  him  to  break  his  silence  as  to  the  Brother 
hood's  place  of  meeting  and  as  to  what  names  his 
eye  had  caught  during  the  signing  of  his  own  to  the 
list.  Secondly,  his  disclosure,  with  every  attendant 
circumstance,  might  be  suspected  of  being  a  ruse  to 
gain  favor,  similar  to  that  by  which  Latude  had 
brought  well-nigh  a  lifetime  of  captivity  upon  him 
self  ;  for  men  who  devise  such  ruses  are  to  be  held 
as  dangerous. 

Yes,  imprisonment  was  the  logical  conclusion  of 
this  incident.  Dick  shuddered  as  the  word  "  Bastile  " 
repeated  itself  in  his  ears.  It  had  a  far  more  formi 
dable  sound  than  that  of  Newgate,  though,  thank 
heaven,  a  far  more  gentlemanly  one.  And  so  Dick 
was  now  about  to  round  out  his  prison  experience, 
begun  in  America  as  a  prisoner  of  war,  and  resumed 


"STONE  WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE."    437 

in  London  as  a  civil  prisoner,  by  being  a  prisoner  of 
state  in  France  !  He  sighed,  and  resigned  himself 
to  the  inevitable.  He  looked  not  into  the  future. 
He  might  be  out  again  in  a  day,  or  he  might  pine'  in . 
his  cage,  purposely  forgotten,  the  rest  of  his  years. 
Well,  well,  no  reason  to  be  downcast !  "  Heart  up, 
lad !  "  he  said  within  himself,  in  the  language  of  old 
Tom  MacAlister ;  "  wha  kens  the  morrow's  shift  of 
the  wind  of  circumstance  ?  " 

After  a  long  ride  through  streets  of  frowning 
houses,  the  carriage  approached  an  open  "place"  or 
square,  at  one  side  of  which  Dick  could  make  out, 
through  the  window,  a  huge  rectangular  building 
whose  uniform  towers,  bulging  out  at  regular  inter 
vals  from  straight  stone  walls,  darkened  the  sky 
above  an  outer  wall  that  enclosed  the  whole  edifice. 
That  end  of  the  building  which  fronted  the  square 
contained  two  of  the  towers.  Towards  this  front  the 
carriage  drove,  crossing  a  drawbridge,  and  stopping 
for  the  man  in  command  to  show  his  order  to  the 
guard  officer.  ^ 

Dick  was  then  driven  past  the  outer  guard-house, 
crossed  a  second  bridge,  a  court,  and  other  enclo 
sures,  and  finally  arrived  at  a  second  guard-house, 
where  he  was  put  down  and  his  name  entered  on  the 
prison  register.  He  was  then  given  into  the  charge 
of  a  squad  of  men,  and  by  these  conducted  to  an 
interior  paved  court,  to  which  an  iron-grated  gate 


438  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

opened,  and  which  seemed  like  the  bottom  of  a  vast 
well.  This  was  the  inside  of  the  rectangle  bounded 
by  the  eight  towers  and  their  connecting  walls. 

By  the  light  of  lanterns,  Dick  was  led  through  a 
door  at  the  side,  and  thence,  through  corridors  and 
up  steep  stairways,  to  a  large  cell.  The  lantern's 
light  showed  a  bare  stone-floored  chamber,  with  a 
table,  a  stool,  a  small  bed,  an  empty  fireplace,  and  in 
the  wall  an  aperture  in  whose  depths,  though  it  was 
designed  to  serve  the  purpose  of  a  window,  Dick's 
sight  was  lost  before  coming  to  the  outer  end.  Be 
fore  he  had  time  to  ask  a  question,  his  conductors 
had  closed  the  door  upon  him,  turned  its  he,avy  lock, 
and  left  him  alone  in  the  darkness. 

He  had  been  searched  in  the  guard-house,  but  not 
required  to  put  on  other  clothes.  Pleased  at  this, 
and  at  his  not  having  been  shackled,  he  groped  his 
way  to  the  bed,  undressed,  and  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 
So  ended  the,  to  him,  eventful  day  of  Wednesday, 
March  12,  1777. 

He  was  visited  on  Thursday  by  Monsieur  Delaunay, 
the  governor  of  the  Bastile,  and  on  Friday  by  the 
lieutenant  of  police,  each  accompanied  to  the  cell 
door  by  soldiers.  Each  tried  by  questions,  vague 
promises,  and  implied  threats,  to  make  him  speak  of 
the  Brotherhood.  Their  attempts  failing,  the  gover 
nor  visited  him  a  week  later,  thinking  imprisonment 
might  have  had  effect  upon  him.  The  governor 


"STONE   WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE."    439 

spoke  incidentally  of  the  dungeons,  nineteen  feet 
below  the  level  of  the  courtyard,  and  five  feet  below 
that  of  the  ditch,  their  only  opening  being  a  narrow 
loophole  to  the  latter.  But  Dick  only  smiled.  A 
fortnight  elapsed  before  the  governor's  next  appear 
ance,  and  still  Dick  was  as  silent  .on  the  one  topic  as 
ever.  The  hint  as  to  the  dungeon  was  not  car 
ried  out.  Perhaps  the  worthy  governor  received 
more  money  for  the  food  of  a  prisoner  in  an  upper 
cell  than  for  that  of  a  prisoner  in  a  dungeon,  and 
consequently  could  make  more  by  underfeeding  him. 
The  governor  now  allowed  a  month  to  pass  before 
renewing  his  persuasions  ;  after  that,  two  months  ; 
and  then  he  came  no  more. 

Meanwhile,  Dick  had  little  to  complain  of.  In 
fact,  many  an  honest  and  hard-working  man  of  talent 
nowadays  might  envy  such  a  life  as  the  ordinary 
prisoner  in  the  Bastile  could  lead,  especially  in  the 
reign  of  Louis  XVI.  Such  a  prisoner's  state,  in 
those  old  days  of  tyranny  and  oppression,  was  heav 
enly,  compared  with  that  of  an  innocent  man  merely 
awaiting  trial  in  the  prison  of  a  police  court  in  New 
York  City  in  this  happy  age  of  liberty  and  humanity. 

Dick  was  allowed  to  walk,  under  guard,  not  only 
in  the  interior  court,  but  also  in  a  small  garden  on 
one  of  the  bastions,  where  the  pure  air  was  sweetened 
by  the  perfume  of  flowers.  He  was  permitted  to 
have  books,  some  of  which  were  lent  him  by  the 


44°  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

governor,  the  royal  intendant,  the  surgeon,  and  other 
officers,  and  some  'of  which  were  bought,  at  his 
request,  out  of  money  allowed  for  his  food.  Could 
he  have  afforded  it  out  of  his  own  purse,  he  might 
have  hired  a  servant,  furnished  his  room  luxuriously, 
dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  eaten  of  the  choicest 
delicacies,  practised  music  and  participated  in  con 
certs  got  up  under  the  governor's  patronage,  kept 
birds  or  cats  or  dogs,  and  otherwise  brought  to  him 
self  the  world  to  which  he  was  forbidden  from  going. 
The  comforts  of  the  Bastile,  however,  were  at  that 
time  accessible  to  only  about  half  a  dozen  prisoners 
besides  Dick.  In  1761  there  had  been  only  four. 
In  1789,  when  the  Bastile  was  destroyed,  there  were 
only  seven. 

But  Dick,  who  lived  in  an  age  when  young  men  of 
talent  did  not  set  upon  leisure  the  value  they  give  it 
in  this  overworking  period,  pined  for  the  open.  He 
began  to  grudge  the  time  lost  in  captivity,  and  the 
fear  grew  on  him  that  he  was  doomed  indeed  to  for- 
getfulness.  Summer  came  and  went.  The  flowers 
in  the  elevated  garden  withered.  Autumn  winds 
howled  around  the  towers,  and  winter  snow  was 
lodged  on  the  lofty  platforms.  The  beginning  of 
December  brought  Dick,  through  the  lieutenant  of 
the  Bastile  garrison,  the  news  that  in  America  the 
British  had  taken  Philadelphia,  but  that  their  North 
ern  army,  under  Burgoyne,  had  surrendered  at  Sara- 


" STONE   WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE.  "    44! 

toga,  and  that  the  glorious  victory  had  been  largely 
won  by  his  own  old  commanders,  Arnold  and  Morgan. 
Such  tidings  made  Dick  eager  to  be  out  in  the  world. 
At  night  he  would  fall  asleep,  gazing  at  the  dying 
embers  in  his  fireplace,  and  dream  of  broad  fields, 
boundless  stretches  of  varied  country  over  which  he 
could  speed  with  bird-like  swiftness,  barely  touching 
the  ground  with  his  feet.  At  last  he  resolved  to 
uncage  himself. 

The  aperture  that  served  as  his  cell  window  was 
defended  by  iron  bars  an  inch  thick,  so  crossing  one 
another  that  each  open  space  was  but  two  inches 
square.  There  were  three  such  gratings.  As  Dick 
was  high  up  in  the  tower,  the  outer  end  of  this  aper 
ture  was  at  a  great  distance  from  the  earth.  Dick 
turned  from  this  opening  in  despair,  put  out  his  fire, 
stooped  into  the  fireplace,  and  examined  the  interior 
of  the  chimney.  It  was  not  very  far  from  the  bottom 
to  the  top,  but  the  way  was  guarded  by  several  iron 
bars  and  spikes,  securely  fixed  in  hard  cement.  They 
had  the  look  of  being  less  difficult  to  unfasten  than 
the  bars  in  the  window  seemed.  Dick  resolved  to 
attack  the  obstructions  in  the  chimney. 

There  was  no  iron  in  his  cell,  his  scanty  furniture 
being  joined  by  wooden  pegs.  The  stone  of  his  cell 
floor  was  so  soft  that  the  first  piece  of  it  he  succeeded 
in  detaching  crumbled  like-  plaster  against  the  hard 
cement  of  the  chimney.  What  was  he  to  do  for  an 


442  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

instrument  with  which  to  scrape  free  the  iron  bars 
from  the  cement  in  which  they  were  set  ?  His  lucky 
star  sent  him  an  inspiration  in  the  shape  of  a 
toothache. 

By  patiently  and  painfully  forcing  aside  his  gum 
with  a  chip  of  fire-wood,  and  by  strong  exertions  of 
thumb  and  forefinger,  he  succeeded  in  extracting  the 
tooth  after  several  hours'  excruciating  pain  and  labor. 
With  the  tooth  itself  he  hollowed  out  of  a  fagot's  end 
a  place  in  which  afterward  to  set  its  root,  which  he 
then  fastened  securely  in  this  handle  by  means  of 
extemporized  wooden  wedges.  He  thus  had  a  scraper, 
so  adjusted  that  he  could  apply  his  full  strength  in 
using  it.  This  he  hid  in  his  bed. 

He  then  unravelled  underclothing,  handkerchiefs, 
and  cravat,  and  twisted  the  threads  into  a  rope,  to 
which  he  tied,  at  intervals  of  one  foot,  small  wooden 
bars  to  serve  as  hand-holds  and  foot-rests.  All  this 
work  was  done  at  times  when  he  was  least  likely  to 
be  visited  by  any  official  or  attendant  of  the  prison. 

He  tied  a  heavy  fagot,  six  inches  long,  to  the  end 
of  his  rope,  and  by  dint  of  much  practice  he  finally 
managed  to  throw  this  end  up  the  chimney  and  over 
one  of  the  iron  bars  therein.  He  then  swung  his 
rope  about  until  it  was  so  entangled  with  the  sus 
pended  fagot  as  to  remain  fast  to  the  bar  when  he 
put  his  weight  on  it.  Armed  with  his  scraper,  he 
then  mounted  by  the  rope  to  the  iron  bar,  undid  and 


"STONE   WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE."    443 

lowered  the  rope's  end  that  had  the  fagot,  thus  giving 
himself  a  double  rope  to  cling  to,  and  began  work 
with  the  scraper  on  the  cement  that  held  one  of  the 
other  bars  than  that  over  which  the  rope  was  thrown. 
Habit  had  taught  him  to  see  in  the  dimmest  light, 
and  his  fingers  to  find  their  way  in  total  darkness. 
To  his  joy  he  soon  found  that  the  hard  enamel  of  his 
tooth  had  effect  on  the  surface  of  the  cement. 

With  what  difficulty  and  pain  he  worked,  supported 
by  his  fragile  rope  ladder,  compelled  to  brace  himself 
against  the  sides  of  the  chimney,  and  often  to  find 
relief  from  his  cramped  position  by  hanging  to  the 
iron  bar,  is  hardly  to  be  imagined.  When  he  desisted 
he  had  to  descend  by  the  double  rope,  then  let  go  of 
one  end  and  draw  the  rope  by  the  other  end  over  the 
bar,  for  the  rope  also  had  to  be  hidden  in  his  bed 
when  not  in  use. 

When  not  working  in  the  chimney,  Dick  made 
additional  rope,  for  that  purpose  unravelling  all  of 
his  clothing  and  bedding  that  would  not  be  missed 
by  any  who  might  enter  his  cell.  He  continued  to 
borrow  books,  and  as  he  now  asked  for  such  as  he 
was  already  acquainted  with,  —  either  French  works 
that  he  knew  through  translation,  or  French  versions 
of  English  works,  —  he  could  talk  so  well  of  their 
contents  that  the  officers  he  occasionally  met  sup 
posed  him  to  pass  all  his  time  in  reading.  So  appar 
ent  was  his  seeming  contentment,  that  no  one 


444  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

suspected  him  of  desiring  to  escape.  But  that 
desire  increased  daily.  It  was  only  stimulated  by 
the  news,  in  February,  that  France  had  recognized 
the  independence  of  his  country  and  formed  an 
alliance  with  it. 

In  less  than  eight  months  after  setting  to  work, 
he  had  opened  a  way  through  the  chimney.  So  slen 
der  was  he,  and  so  supple,  that  he  found  he  had  not 
to  remove  all  the  bars,  for  he  could  wriggle  between 
some  of  them  and  the  chimney  wall.  Those  that 
he  did  unfasten  he  replaced  loosely  in  position  after 
each  period  of  work.  He  now  estimated  that  he 
had  nearly  two  hundred  feet  of  rope,  and  he  had 
been  told  correctly  that  the  towers  of  the  Bastile 
were  nearly  two  hundred  feet  high.  By  the  first  of 
August,  1778,  all  was  ready;  and  Dick  waited  only 
for  a  dark  and  rainy  night. 

Such  a  night  came  on  Wednesday,  August  5th. 
Dick  had  walked  in  the  court  that  afternoon,  under 
a  steady  downpour  of  the  kind  that  lasts  twenty-four 
hours  or  more,  and  he  felt  assured  of  a  black  sky  for 
the  night.  He  attached  his  rope  in  the  usual  man 
ner,  ascended  the  chimney,  removed  the  loosely  re 
placed  iron  bars,  one  by  one,  climbed  by  the  rope  to 
the  highest  of  the  bars  he  had  left  fast,  squeezed 
through  between  that  bar  and  the  chimney  wall, 
attached  the  rope's  end  to  his  waist,  and  then  labori 
ously  worked  his  way  up  the  rest  of  the  chimney 


"STONE   WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE."    445 

with  arms  and  legs,  rubbing  the  skin  off  elbows  and 
knees  in  doing  so.  At  last  he  emerged  from  the  top 
of  the  chimney,  and,  after  resting  a  minute,  dropped 
on  the  flat  roof  of  the  tower. 

For  some  time,  the  darkness  and  rain  hid  every 
thing  from  Dick's  sight.  But  at  last,  having  mean 
while  drawn  the  full  length  of  rope  after  him  from 
the  chimney,  he  could  make  out  vaguely  the  dark 
houses  and  streets  stretching  far  away  below.  By 
sheer  force  of  will,  and  by  confining  every  thought 
and  moment  to  his  work,  he  kept  himself  from  turning 
giddy  at  the  height. 

The  lofty  platform  of  the  Bastile  was  surmounted 
by  ordnance,  even  as  in  the  days  of  the  Fronde, 
when  the  "  great  Mademoiselle  "  had  fired  the  guns 
on  the  soldiers  of  Turenne.  Dick  fastened  his  rope 
around  one  of  these  cannon,  and  threw  the  loose  end 
over  the  battlement  of  a  corner  tower.  He  believed 
that  the  rope  would  reach  down  almost  to  the  fosse, 
which  separated  the  prison  from  the  outer  wall.  This 
ditch  was  twenty-five  feet  deep,  but  was  usually  kept 
dry.  Along  the  inside  of  the.  outer  wall  ran  a 
wooden  gallery,  which  was  paced  by  sentinels  and 
was  reached  from  below  by  two  flights  of  steps. 

It  was  Dick's  plan  to  drop  from  the  rope's  end  to 
the  fosse,  slink  up  the  steps  under  cover  of  darkness 
and  rain,  elude  the  sentinels,  reach  the  top  of  the 
outer  wall,  and  drop  therefrom  to  the  ground  outside, 


446  THE  ROAD    TO   IRAKIS. 

trusting  to  his  lightness  and  his  luck  to  make  this 
last  fall  an  easy  one.  He  had  obtained  his  knowl 
edge  of  his  surroundings  from  a  book  of  memoirs 
that  he  had  read  in  his  cell,  written  by  a  gentleman 
who  had  been  imprisoned  in  the  Bastile  under  the 
Regency. 

He  clambered  over  the  battlement,  took  a  good 
hold  of  his  slender  rope,  or,  rather,  of  one  of  the 
wooden  rounds  knotted  to  it,  and  let  down  his  weight 
over  the  outer  edge  of  the  battlement,  grasping  at 
the  same  time  the  next  lower  round  with  his  other 
hand.  He  had  an  instant  of  giddiness  and  weakness, 
at  the  discovery  that  the  rope  swung  far  out  in  the 
air,  the  wall  being  overhung  by  the  battlements.  He 
hardened  his  muscles  and  somewhat  overcame  this 
momentary  feeling.  But  his  arms  trembled  as  he 
cautiously  disengaged  one  hand  and  sought  the  next 
round  below. 

In  this  manner,  swaying  in  the  air,  and  feeling 
sometimes  as  if  the  tower  were  leaning  over  upon 
him,  and  at  other  times  as  if  it  were  receding  so  as 
to  leave  him  quite  alone  between  earth  and  sky,  he 
gradually  made  the  descent.  It  began  to  seem  as  if 
the  rope  were  endless,  as  if  he  were  doomed  forever 
to  descend  towards  an  earth  that  fell  back  from  him 
as  he  approached.  But  at  last  his  feet  felt  about  for 
the  rope  below,  in  vain.  His  hands  soon  confirmed 
the  discovery  that  he  was  at  the  rope's  lower  end,  to 


"STONE   WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PKISON  MAKE."    447 

which  a  stout  piece  of  wood  was  attached.  Yet  he 
was  still  far  from  the  fosse ;  indeed,  he  saw,  with 
dismay,  that  he  was  a  good  distance  above  the  level 
of  the  outer  wall. 

To  drop  from  such  a  height  would  be  suicide.  To 
climb  back  to  the  top  of  the  tower  was  impossible ; 
his  strength  was  almost  gone. 

Thanks  to  the  darkness  and  to  the  noise  of  the  rain, 
he  had  not  been  seen  by  the  sentinels.  It  was  a 
time  for  desperate  expedients.  He  had  noticed  that, 
whenever  the  rope  swung  him  close  to  the  tower 
wall,  it  swung  back  to  a  corresponding  distance  out 
ward.  He  now  swung  in,  and,  in  rebounding,  struck 
his  feet  against  the  tower  in  such  manner  as  to  pro 
pel  him  farther  outward  on  the  return  swing.  He 
next  guided  himself  so  as  to  swing  clear  of  the 
rounded  surface  of  the  tower  and  yet  so  as  to  kick 
the  tower  in  passing,  and  thus  to  gain  additional 
space  and  force  for  his  pendulum-like  movement 
through  the  air.  Continuing  thus,  and  describing  a 
greater  arc  at  each  swing,  he  found  at  last  that  his 
outward  swing  brought  him  almost  directly  above  the 
outer  wall.  At  the  next  swing,  he  let  the  rope  go, 
with  the  hope  of  landing  somewhere  on  the  outer 
wall,  which  was  so  near  that  the  fall  would  not  be 
exceptionally  dangerous. 

Through  the  air  he  was  hurled,  far  beyond  the 
outer  wall.  He  had  miscalculated.  For  an  instant 


448  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

he  was  aware  of  this,  and  gave  himself  up  as  a  dead 
man.  He  knew  that  no  human  bones  could  with 
stand  such  a  collision  with  solid  earth  as  he  was 
about  to  experience.  He  instinctively  made  himself 
ready  for  the  shock.  It  came,  —  with  a  splash,  an 
immersion,  a  gurgling,  and  a  further  descent  through 
muddy  water.  He  had  dropped  into  the  aqueduct  of 
the  Fosse  St.  Antoine. 

The  ten  feet  of  water  then  in  the  aqueduct  suffi 
ciently  broke  his  fall,  and  he  rose  to  the  surface  in  a 
state  of  amazement.  As  there  was  no  demonstration 
from  the  wall  over  which  he  had  swung,  he  inferred 
that  the  sound  of  the  rain  had  drowned  the  splash  of 
his  contact  with  the  water.  He  clambered  up  the 
bank,  slunk  along  the  outer  wall  of  the  Bastile, 
and  emerged  in  the  square  before  the  Porte  St. 
Antoine. 

Westward  lay  the  city  proper,  eastward  the 
Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  with  highways  leading  to  the 
open  country.  The  first  faint  sign  of  dawn  was 
appearing,  so  many  hours  had  Dick  been  employed 
in  his  escape.  The  rain  was  still  descending,  and 
the  water  of  the  ditch  was  dripping  from  his  clothes. 
He  stood  still  for  a  moment,  gazing  at  the  dark  roofs 
of  Paris  ;  then  he  turned  his  back  upon  them,  and 
looked  towards  the  two  streets  that  opened  before 
him.  He  chose  that  towards  the  right,  and  plunged 
into  it.  It  led  him  southeastward. 


"STOKE   WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE."    449 

By  full  dawn  he  had  passed  through  some  open 
fields  to  the  country,  for  the  great  circular  wall 
completed  under  Napoleon  had  not  then  been  even 
authorized.  Regaining  the  highway,  he  proceeded 
towards  Charenton,  making  on  this  occasion  more 
haste  on  the  road  from  Paris  than  he  had  ever  made 
on  the  road  thereto. 

He  was  moneyless,  hatless,  clad  in  outer  garments 
only,  his  inner  ones  having  gone  to  make  rope.  As 
the  morning  advanced,  people  on  the  road  stared  at 
him  with  curiosity.  Near  Charenton  he  stepped 
aside  to  let  a  post -carriage  pass  towards  Paris.  To 
his  surprise,  the  occupant  of  the  carriage,  having 
observed  him  in  passing,  thrust  a  good-natured  face 
out  of  the  window,  ordered  the  postilion  to  stop,  and 
called  to  Dick  : 

"  My  friend,  you  look  wet !  " 

"I  am  wet,"  replied  Dick,  who  had  not  moved 
since  the  carriage  had  gone  by. 

"Haven't  I  seen  you  somewhere  before?"  asked 
the  gentleman  in  the  carriage. 

"  The  same  question  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue," 
said  Dick.  "  But  I  have  already  answered  it."  And 
then  he  spoke  in  English.  "  Good  morning,  Lord 
George ! " 

"  Why,  damme  if  it  isn't  Wetheral  !  "  Lord  George 
Winston  also  spoke  English  now,  and  a  very  pleased 
and  friendly  expression  came  over  his  face. 


450  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"Yes,  it  is  Wetheral,  and  in  much  the  same 
condition  as  when  he  first  had  the  honor  of  meeting 
you." 

"  Egad,  so  it  seems !  Come,  then,  let  me  play 
the  Good  Samaritan  again  !  " 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  refuse  you,  my  lord,"  said 
Dick,  looking  down  at  himself. 

"  Good  !  Wilkins,  open  the  door  for  Mr.  Wetheral." 

"  A  moment,  my  lord.     Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"To  Paris,  of  course." 

"  Then  I  thank  you,  but  I  have  important  business 
in  the  opposite  direction." 

"  Oh,  come  into  the  carriage !  I  shall  not  be  in 
Paris  long.  I've  come  up  from  Fontainebleau,  to 
engage  a  secretary.  Then  I  am  going  to  make  a 
tour  of  France  and  Germany." 

"  Do  you  want  a  secretary  ?  I  am  sure  I  should 
make  a  good  secretary." 

"Why,  you  are  a  gentleman." 

"  Do  you  want  an  hostler  for  a  secretary,  then  ? " 

"Why,  if  you  really  wish  it,  the  post  is  open  to 
you." 

"  Then  I  accept  it  on  the  spot." 

"  Then  I  have  no  need  to  go  to  Paris.  Get  in, 
Mr.  Secretary." 

Dick  obeyed  with  alacrity,  Lord  George  ordered 
the  postilion  to  turn  around,  and  soon  they  were 
whirling  through  Charenton,  on  the  road  to  Melun, 


"STONE   WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE."    45  I 

Dick  telling  Lord  George  his  story,  and  receiving 
the  latter's  unsolicited  promise  to  back  whatever 
assertions  might  become  necessary  to  show  that  his 
lordship's  secretary  was  not  the  man  who  had  escaped 
from  the  Bastile. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

DICK    GIVES    A    SPECIMEN    OF    AMERICAN   SHOOTING. 

BUT  Dick's  appearance  was  soon  so  changed  as 
to  remove  fear  of  recognition,  thanks  to  the  equip 
ment  with  which  Lord  George  provided  him,  as 
advanced  payment,  out  of  his  lordship's  own  ward 
robe, —  an  equipment  for  a  fine  gentleman  rather 
than  for  a  secretary.  The  transformation  was  begun 
at  Melun,  whence  the  travellers  went  speedily  to 
Fontainebleau,  where  a  barber  and  hair-dresser  com 
pleted  it.  Dick  was  then  told  that  his  duties  would 
consist  in  writing  letters  of  travel  that  his  lordship 
had  promised  to  send  to  England.  His  lordship  gave 
the  name  to  which  these  epistles  were  to  be  directed. 
Dick  echoed  back  the  name,  in  astonishment : 

"  Miss  Celestine  Thorpe !  Why,  it  seems  to  me 
I've  heard  — 

"Yes,"  admitted  Lord  George,  with  a  sigh, 
"I  went  to  Oxfordshire  and  renewed  the  attack, 
and  the  lady  capitulated,  —  that  is  to  say,  con 
ditionally  on  my  behavior  during  absence.  These 
letters  are  to  show  how  I  spend  my  time.  I  under 
took  to  write  them  myself,  but  at  this  place  I  found 

452 


A    SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.     453 

I  hadn't  the  literary  gift.  So  I  started  for  Paris  in 
search  of  a  secretary.  By  the  way,  you  may  be  glad 
to  hear  that  the  lovely  Amabel  is  soon  to  be  Sir 
William  Fountain's  lady.  He  is  the  exact  opposite 
of  the  lamented  Bullcott.  Alderby  has  married  Miss 
Mallby,  and  revenges  himself  for  her  treatment  of 
him  before  marriage,  by  keeping  her  green  with 
jealousy." 

Dick  sighed  to  think  how  long  ago  seemed  his 
contact  with  the  lives  of  the  people  thus  recalled  to 
his  mind,  and  how  completely  he  must  have  been  by 
them  forgotten.  Such  is  the  world  ! 

The  next  few  weeks,  passed  in  leisurely  travel 
from  one  old  town  of  France  to  another,  were  among 
the  most  uneventful  and  serenely  pleasurable  in 
Dick's  life.  From  the  noble  forest,  great  rocks,  and ' 
historic  chateau  of  Fontainebleau,  they  went  to  Sens, 
with  its  winding  streets  and  pleasant  rivulets.  There 
they  took  the  water-coach,  and  were  towed,  by  horses 
on  the  bank,  up  the  Yonne  to  Joigny,  which  looks 
down  on  fertile  meadows  watered  by  the  two  rivers 
that  join  at  the  foot  of  its  hillside.  Continuing  on 
the  water-coach,  with  a  cheerful  company  of  mer 
chants,  lawyers,  abb6s,  milliners,  soldiers,  fiddlers, 
women  of  different  ages  and  degrees  of  virtue,  and 
other  people,  they  joined  in  the  quadrilles  in  the 
cabin  and  on  deck  with  a  gaiety  that  effectually 
disguised  Lord  George's  rank  and  nationality. 


454  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

At  Auxerre  they  left  the  water-coach,  and  pro 
ceeded  by  a  hired  conveyance  to  Dijon,  where  they 
met  several  English,  Irish,  and  Scotch  gentry  at  the 
coffee-house,  and  were  reminded  of  London  by  the 
garden  called  Vauxhall,  hard  by  the  ramparts.  So 
they  went  through  Burgundy,  drinking  the  wine, 
exchanging  civilities  with  the  well-fed  monks,  and 
partaking  everywhere  of  the  fat  of  the  land.  By 
way  of  Auxonne,  a  town  small  but  fortified,  and 
Dole,  with  its  Roman  vestiges,  they  neared  the 
Swiss  frontier  at  Besangon,  then  noted  for  its  uni 
versity,  its  hospital,  its  large  garrison  containing 
among  others  the  regiment  of  the  King,  its  perpetual 
religious  processions,  its  frequent  suicides  of  lovers 
in  the  river  Doube,  and  its  soldiers'  duels. 

Thence  they  went  to  Basle,  lodging  at  the  inn  of 
the  Three  Kings,  and  dining  by  a  window  that 
looked  across  the  Rhine  to  smiling  plains;  thence 
past  miles  of  tobacco  fields  to  Strasbourg ;  thence 
across  the  Rhine  and  to  Rastadt ;  thence  by  way  of 
Carlsruhe  and  Speyer  to  Mannheim,  whose  straight 
streets,  crossing  at  right  angles,  reminded  Dick  of 
Philadelphia.  Over  a  flat  country  where  there  were 
few  houses  but  palaces  and  peasants'  cottages,  —  for 
in  most  small  German  states  the  gentry  lived  in  the 
capitals  and  the  merchant  class  in  towns,  —  they 
went  by  carriage  to  the  ecclesiastical  capital,  Ma- 
yence,  which  swarmed  with  priests,  many  of  them 


A    SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.     455 

rich  and  gay-looking,  and  not  a  few  openly  tipsy 
with  Rhenish  wine.  From  there  Lord  George  and 
his  secretary  proceeded  to  Frankfort,  notable  for  its 
stately  houses  covered  with  red  stucco,  its  spacious 
streets,  its  well-dressed  and  well-mannered  people, 
its  multitude  of  Jews. 

From  the  free  imperial  city  they  drove  to  Marburg, 
in  the  landgraviate  of  Hesse-Cassel,  a  hilly,  well- 
wooded  country,  with  many  fertile  valleys  and  fields. 
Its  landgrave,  Frederick  II.,  was  one  of  the  richest 
and  most  powerful  of  all  the  German  princes,  and 
was  then  in  close  relations  with  England,  which  fact 
gave  him  a  mild  interest  in  Lord  George's  eyes ;  but 
there  was  to  that  fact  a  circumstance  with  a  different 
interest  for  Dick  Wetheral,  —  it  was  this  Landgrave 
that  sold  his  troops  to  England,  and  thousands  of 
them  were  even  now  in  America  fighting  against 
Dick's  countrymen. 

Pushing  on  from  Marburg  as  rapidly  as  the  bad 
roads  and  the  stolid,  smoking  German  postilion  would 
let  them  go,  the  young  gentlemen  entered  Cassel, 
then  no  longer  a  walled  city,  on  a  pleasant  autumn 
evening,  little  foreseeing,  as  they  drove  in  from  the 
southwest  and  set  foot  before  the  hotel  in  the  round 
platz  near  the  Landgrave's  palace,  that  in  this  capital 
a  very  remarkable  drama  was  about  to  open  in  the 
life  of  Dick  Wetheral. 

The  next  morning  Dick  stayed  in  the  hotel  to  write 


456  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Lord  George's  journal  up  to  date,  while  his  lordship 
went  out  to  visit  the  English  resident.  Before 
noon  Lord  George  returned. 

"  Lay  aside  your  pen,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said  to 
Dick.  "We  are  to  dine  at  the  palace  with  their 
highnesses,  the  Landgrave  and  Landgravine.  Make 
haste,  you've  barely  time  to  change  your  clothes." 

"But  I  am  merely  a  secretary,"  objected  Dick, 
who  had  no  desire  to  enjoy  the  hospitality  of  the 
Landgrave  of  Hesse-Cassel. 

"  So  much  the  more  reason  why  you  should  see 
the  Landgrave's  court,  to  write  my  description  of 
it.  Besides,  no  one  will  know  you  are  my  secretary 
as  well  as  my  friend." 

"But  no  one  is  permitted  to  appear  at  German 
courts  who  isn't  noble." 

"  That  rule  of  etiquette  is  observed  only  towards 
the  natives,  not  towards  strangers,  and  particularly 
not  towards  Englishmen.  Come,  this  is  a  gala-day, 
and  we  shall  go  to  the  masquerade  to-night  as  well. 
I  must  have  at  least  one  court  dinner  and  court  ball 
in  my  journal  of  travels,  to  be  in  the  fashion.  To 
morrow  we  shall  leave  Cassel,  which  doesn't  interest 
me,  and  go  by  way  of  Magdeburg  to  Berlin." 

Dick  was  glad  to  hear  this  last  intention,  for, 
unlike  the  Landgrave  Frederick  II.  of  Hesse-Cassel, 
King  Frederick  I.  of  Prussia  (who  was  also  Duke  of 
Magdeburg)  had  shown  some  favor  to  the  American 


A    SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.      457 

cause,  having  some  months  ago  forbidden  the  passage 
of  Hessian  soldiers  through  his  dominions  to  embark 
for  America.  So  Dick  complied  the  more  cheerfully 
with  Lord  George's  wish. 

Cassel  then,  as  now,  was  mainly  on  the  west  bank 
of  the  river  Fulda,  and  consisted  of  the  "old  town," 
large  and  irregular,  and  the  "  new  town,"  where  the 
nobility  and  the  court  officers  had  fine  houses.  The 
circular  platz  in  which  the  travellers  lodged  was  at 
the  southwestern  extremity  of  the  old  town,  and  by 
proceeding  a  short  way  southwest  from  the  platz,  one 
reached  the  winter  palace  and  the  new  town.  A  few 
steps  of  their  carriage  horses  brought  Lord  George 
and  Dick  to  the  palace,  then  a  large  Gothic  castle, 
west  of  which,  was  the  great  rectangular  open  space 
now  known  as  the  Friedrichsplatz.  South  of  this 
space,  and  between  the  new  town  and  the  Fulda, 
was  a  flat-roofed  villa,  used  by  the  Landgrave  as  a 
summer  residence,  and  surrounded  by  parks,  gar 
dens,  an  orangery,  and  a  menagerie.  But  though 
September  was  not  yet  past,  the  Landgrave  was  now 
occupying  the  winter  palace. 

The  guard  officer  at  the  palace,  to  whom  Lord 
George  showed  his  order  for  entrance,  caused  a  foot 
man  to  conduct  the  visitors  into  a  large  decorated 
room,  where  a  number  of  officers  stood  about  in 
groups,  talking  in  low  tones.  One  of  these,  whom 
Lord  George  had  met  in  the  forenoon,  greeted  the 


45  8  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

two  with  the  utmost  courtesy,  which  seemed  like  a 
compound  of  French  politeness  and  English  gravity. 
Dick  observed  that  this  officer  spoke  in  French, 
which  indeed  was  so  much  the  court  language  in 
Germany  while  Frederick  of  Prussia  set  the  fashion, 
that  the  use  of  German  was  deemed  a  mark  of  vul 
garity.  In  France  the  craze  was  for  everything 
English  ;  in  Germany  for  everything  French. 

From  the  number  of  military  officers  present,  it 
was  evident  that  the  Landgrave  had  not  sent  all  of 
his  army  to  serve  England  in  America.  Dick  made 
several  acquaintances  in  a  very  few  minutes.  He 
who  had  first  approached  was*  Count  von  Romberg, 
a  captain  in  the  foot-guards.  .  Another  was  the 
Baron  von  Sungen,  lieutenant-colonel  of  the  horse- 
guards,  a  witty,  spirited,  impulsive,  chivalrous  man, 
with  a  French  manner  acquired  in  Paris.  A  third  — • 
slim,  talkative,  vain,  meddlesome,  with  brazen  gray 
eyes  and  reddish  eye-lashes  —  was  Count  Mesmer, 
one  of  his  highness's  chamberlains.  These  three 
were  young  men.  Of  the  older  ones  in  the  assem 
blage,  Dick  noticed  particularly  a  bent,  wrinkled, 
crafty-looking  sexagenarian,  who,  he  learned,  was 
Von  Rothenstein,  minister  of  police. 

Presently  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  there 
appeared  a  robust  gentleman  of  medium  height,  look 
ing  fewer  years  than  his  fifty-eight,  and  wearing  the 
Order  of  the  Garter.  He  came  with  a  firm  tread, 


A   SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.     459 

noticing  in  a  brief  but  gracious  way  the  officers,  who 
bowed  low  to  him  as  he  approached.  He  had  a  mo 
ment  and  a  word  for  this  one  and  for  that ;  for  Gen 
eral  Scliven,  his  chief  reliance  in  military  affairs ; 
for  old  Zastrow,  who  had  commanded  at  Schweidnitz  ; 
for  the  Prince  of  Saxe-Gotha,  who  had  a  regiment  in 
Hesse-Cassel's  service ;  and,  in  due  time,  for  the 
officious  Count  Mesmer,  by  whom  Lord  George  and 
Dick  had  the  honor  of  being  made  known  to  the 
Landgrave. 

His  highness  expressed,  in  the  French  language 
and  in  a  guttural  voice  still  full  of  virility,  the  pleas 
ure  he  took  in  meeting  Englishmen.  While  Lord 
George  was  bowing  indifferently,  and  Dick  hypocriti 
cally,  other  doors  opened,  and  a  lady  entered,  very 
beautiful  and  dignified,  large,  and  somewhat  over- 
plump.  Dick  knew  from  the  great  respect  with  which 
she  was  received,  and  from  the  number  of  ladies  that 
followed  her,  that  she  must  be  the  Landgravine.  A 
very  cold  greeting  passed  between  her  and  the 
Landgrave,  —  for,  though  it  was  but  five  years  since 
Frederick  II.  had  married,  for  love,  the  Princess  of 
Brandenburg-Schwedt,  he  already  lived  estranged 
from  her,  as  he  had  lived  from  his  first  wife,  a  daugh 
ter  of  England's  George  II. ;  and  as  he  now  lived 
also  from  his  son  George  William,  the  hereditary 
prince,  who  was  also  Count  of  Hanau,  and  main 
tained  there  a  little  court. 


460  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Dick  glanced  from  the  Landgravine  to  her  ladies, 
who  looked  neither  as  piquant  as  French  women, 
nor  as  reserved  as  English  women.  If  what  an 
ungallant  American  traveller  wrote  at  that  time  — 
that  at  the  German  courts  beauty  and  butter  alike 
were  measured  by  the  pound  —  were  true,  it  was  to 
be  granted  that  the  German  ladies  had  fair  skin, 
radiant  complexion,  and  something  of  a  classic  cast 
of  countenance.  But  Dick's  gaze  fastened  upon 
one  face,  which  had  beauty  without  heaviness  ;  a  face 
that  stood  out  from  the  others, — making  them  and 
all  the  world  besides  fade  into  nothingness,  while 
Dick,  in  doubt  whether  he  was  not  dreaming,  forgot 
that  any  other  woman  had  ever  lived.  It  was  the 
-face  of  Catherine  de  St.  Valier  ! 

She  saw  him,  looked  slightly  startled,  then  took 
on  the  faintest  flush,  which  passed  immediately  but 
left  him  with  the  happy  assurance  that  he  was  recog 
nized.  Half-way  across  the  room  as  he  was,  he 
bowed  low.  She  slightly  inclined  her  head,  and 
hastened  to  the  Landgravine,  for  whom  she  had 
brought  a  forgotten  handkerchief.  She  then  went 
swiftly  out  by  the  door  at  which  all  the  ladies  had 
entered. 

The  company  was  already  on  the  way  to  the 
dining-parlor,  and  Dick  had  to  follow.  It  was  the 
privilege  of  Lord  George  and  his  friends  to  dine  at 
their  highnesses'  table,  where  only  strangers  and 


A   SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.     461 

such  officers  as  were  not  under  the  rank  of  colonel 
were  allowed  to  sit,  the  lesser  guests  eating  in  an 
adjoining  room,  to  which  the  doors  were  left  open. 
But  Dick  took  no  thought  of  the  honor  done  him,  or 
of  the  table-talk,  which  was  constrained  and  low- 
spoken,  no  voice  being  raised  save  when  one  of  their 
highnesses  addressed  some  person  at  a  distance. 
Catherine  was  not  present.  Dick  continued  to  won 
der  how  in  the  world  she  had  come  to  be  an  inmate 
of  the  palace  of  Cassel.  As  the  dinner  lasted  two 
hours,  he  had  time  in  which  to  repeat  this  question 
to  himself  many  times.  After  dinner  he  absent-mind 
edly  followed  the  company  back  to  the  room  where 
it  had  first  assembled.  Here  he  stood  in  a  trance 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then,  the  Landgrave 
having  left  the  apartment,  the  company  broke  up. 

"  Let  us  hope  we  sha'n't  be  so  bored  at  the  mas 
querade  to-night,"  said  Lord  George,  on  the  way 
back  to  the  hotel.  "  I  shall  thank  God  when  I  have 
put  this  stupid  place  far  behind  me." 

"  Stupid  !  "  echoed  Dick.  "I  find  it  very  interest 
ing.  I  sha'n't  think  of  leaving  for  some  time." 

"  Why,  this  morning  you  were  glad  we  were  going 
at  once  to  Berlin  !  " 

"  My  dear  Lord  George,  if  you  are  determined  to 
go  at  once  to  Berlin,  I  beg  to  resign  my  place  as 
your  secretary.  I  will  do  my  best  to  find  you 
another  secretary  here  at  Cassel." 


462  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"  Why,  I  suppose  I  can  easily  find  one.  But  are 
you  serious  ?  One  would  suppose  you  had  got  some 
fat  appointment  in  the  court  or  the  army,  since  this 
morning. 

"  I  wish  I  had,  God  knows,  —  or  even  a  lean  one,  — 
but  not  in  the  army.  I  would  not  go  to  fight  against 
my  —  against  the  Americans." 

"  Oh,  you  wouldn't  be  sent  to  America.  We 
should  have  to  get  you  into  one  of  the  household 
battalions,  —  not  as  an  officer,  of  course ;  you  know 
the  officers  must  be  of  the  nobility,  but  there  are 
gentlemen  in  the  ranks  of  every  military  body  that 
is  attached  to  a  sovereign's  person.  There  are  the 
body-guards,  the  foot-guards,  the  horse-guards,  and 
other  such  troops.  Doubtless  volunteers  are  very 
welcome.  These  German  princes  have  crimps  all 
over  Europe  kidnapping  men  for  their  armies.  Let 
us  speak  to  one  of  the  various  counts  or  barons  we 
shall  meet  to-night." 

"  No,  my  lord,  I  would  never  serve  this  Landgrave 
as  a  soldier,  —  nor  in  any  other  post,  but  for  one 
reason." 

His  lordship,  though  puzzled,  was  too  polite  to  ask 
what  the  reason  was.  "Very  well,"  said  he,  after  a 
moment's  silence,  "we  shall  see  to-morrow.  I  shall 
try  to  lure  away  some  under-clerk  from  a  brilliant 
official  career,  as  my  secretary,  and  to  get  you  in  his 
place,  — if  you  continue  of  the  same  mind," 


A    SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.     463 

"  My  lord,  you  are  destined  to  be  always  my  Good 
Samaritan,"  cried  Dick,  his  eyes  suddenly  moist  with 
gratitude.  He  considered  that,  in  occupying  a  civil 
sinecure  under  the  Landgrave,  he  would  not  in  reality 
be  serving  that  virtual  enemy  to  his  country,  but 
would  be  merely  supporting  himself  by  means  of 
that  enemy ;  that  is  to  say,  he  would  be,  in  time 
of  necessity,  existing  at  the  expense  of  the  foe, 
according  to  the  custom  of  war.  Moreover,  his  posi 
tion  might  enable  him  to  serve  his  country  directly, 
by  giving  him  early  intelligence  of  future  movements 
by  Hessian  troops,  and,  perhaps,  of  future  intentions 
of  England. 

They  drove  to  a  costumer's,  obtained  dominoes, 
and,  at  six  o'clock,  returned  to  the  palace,  where 
they  found  the  gentlemen  of  the  court  all  in  domi 
noes,  the  ladies  in  ordinary  ball  dress.  Card  tables 
had  been  set,  and  the  Landgrave  played  at  cavaniolle 
with  a  rather  talkative  party  of  about  a  dozen  mem 
bers,  while  the  Landgravine  took  a  hand  at  quadrille 
with  a  trio  of  her  own  choosing.  A  number  of  play 
ers  occupied  tables  in  adjoining  rooms.  Dick  helped 
make  up  a  game  at  which  Captain  von  Romberg  and 
two  placid,  apple-cheeked  baronesses  were  the  other 
participants,  but  his  eyes  roved  from  his  cards,  in 
vain  search  of  Catherine. 

While  the  games  were  going  on,  a  gentleman 
passed  around  with  a  hat  containing  small  tickets. 


464  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Each  lady  took  one  of  these,  when  the  hat  was 
offered  her,  and  then  similar  tickets  were  drawn  by 
the  gentlemen.  Dick  saw  that  his  ticket  bore  the 
number  twenty-three,  and  he  learned  from  the  talk 
of  his  fellow  players  that  the  lady  who  had  drawn 
the  same  number  would  be  his  partner  at  supper 
and  at  the  dance.  Presently  an  officer  began  calling 
out  the  numbers,  a  lady  declaring  herself  at  each 
number,  and  a  gentleman  offering  his  arm  to  lead 
her  out  to  supper. 

"  I  wonder  who  has  twenty-three,"  said  Dick, 
indifferently,  to  Lord  George,  who  had  meanwhile 
rejoined  him. 

"I  can't  tell  you  that,"  replied  his  lordship,  "but 
I  know  who  has  my  number,  seventeen.  I  happened 
to  see  her  ticket,  when  she  held  it  up  to  the  light. 
She  is  that  splendid,  dark-eyed  creature,  standing 
yonder  under  the  candles." 

Dick's  glance  turned  idly  towards  the  indicated 
place.  Suddenly  he  became  afire. 

"  My  lord,"  he  almost  gasped,  "  be  my  Good 
Samaritan  once  again.  Exchange  tickets  with  me, 
for  heaven's  sake  !  " 

"  Why,  certainly.  That  gives  me  back  the  uncer 
tainty  to  which  this  game  entitles  me."  And  the 
exchange  was  quickly  made. 

"  Seventeen,"  was  called  out,  and  Dick  advanced, 
with  beating  heart,  to  meet  Catherine.  She  colored 


A   SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.     465 

again  —  was  it  with  pleasure?  —  as  she  took  his 
proffered  arm.  They  walked  in  silence  to  the  supper- 
room. 

At  supper  there  was  more  ease  and  animation 
than  there  had  been  at  dinner.  This  circumstance 
favored  conversation  between  Dick  and  his  partner. 

"  I  should  not  have  expected  to  meet  you  so  far 
from  where  I  saw  you  last,"  he  began,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Nor  I  to  meet  you,"  she  replied,  speaking  with 
out  haste,  and  with  the  gravity  that  characterized 
her. 

"  Oh,  my  coming  here  was  a  very  simple  matter. 
Sent  to  England  as  a  prisoner,  I  escaped  to  France, 
and  there  fell  in  with  an  English  nobleman,  whose 
travels  brought  him  this  way.  I  am  his  secre 
tary.  It  is  not  known  I  am  an  American." 

"  My  coming  here  was  quite  as  simple,"  said  she, 
with  a  slight  smile.  "  My  brother  and  I  came  to 
France  to  receive  a  small  bequest  left  by  a  cousin  of 
my  mother's.  In  Paris  we  met  a  distant  relation, — 
one  of  the  ladies  of  her  highness  the  Landgravine. 
When  she  returned  to  Cassel,  she  obtained  for  me 
a  post  as  lady-in-waiting.  French  people  are  in 
request  at  the  German  courts." 

"  And  Monsieur  Gerard  ?  " 

"My  brother  is  in  the  foot-guards." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him,"  said  Dick,  and  added, 


466  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

with  special  intention,  "  I  suppose  he  has  forgotten 
me." 

"  Oh,  no,  monsieur,"  she  replied,  quite  artlessly ; 
"  we  have  often  talked  of  you.  Our  gratitude  for 
recovering  the  portrait,  and  risking  your  life  to 
bring  it  to  us  — 

" 'Twas  the  opportunity  of  risking  it  to  serve  you, 
that  made  my  life  worth  having,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
little  above  a  whisper. 

"  My  brother  will  be  -glad  to  learn  that  your  life 
was  surely  saved,"  she  replied,  avoiding  Dick's  glance. 

"  And  you,  who  saved  it  ? " 

"  I,  too,  of  course." 

The  words  were  nothing,  but  the  slight  blush  with 
which  she  uttered  them  was  eloquent. 

After  supper,  all  the  company  put  on  masks  with 
which  they  had  provided  themselves.  The  Land 
gravine  was  led  to  the  ballroom  by  her  partner,  an 
owlish  colonel,  and  the  other  couples  followed.  Her 
highness  stopped  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  the 
second  couple  stopped  immediately  below  this,  and 
at  last  there  was  a  double  file  extending  the  length 
of  the  hall.  This  arrangement  seemed  to  promise  a 
country-dance,  but  when  the  music  began,  Dick 
found  that  a  form  of  minuet  was  intended.  When 
this  had  been  walked  through,  everybody  sat  down, 
except  the  Landgravine,  who  then  danced  with 
several  different  gentlemen  in  succession. 


A    SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.     467 

After  this  there  were  minuets  and  country-dances. 
The  company  was  augmented  by  maskers  from  the 
town,  some  in  fancy  dresses ;  while  several  who 
belonged  to  the  court,  having  meanwhile  slipped 
out,  returned  in  different  costume,  so  as  to  be  really 
disguised,  —  for  on  first  entering  the  masquerade- 
room,  all  were  known,  notwithstanding  their  masks. 
Everybody  was  now  on  a  footing,  and  the  maskers 
mingled  promiscuously.  But  Dick  remained  with 
Catherine,  who  showed  no  desire  for  other  com 
pany.  He  thought  himself  in  the  midst  of  paradise, 
until  suddenly  she  said  : 

"Her  highness  is  retiring.     I  must  go." 
"  But,  mademoiselle,  the  others  are  not  going !  " 
"The  others  are  not  keepers   of  her  highness's 
robes,"  said  Catherine. 

"But  one  moment !    When  may  I  see  you  again?" 

"  How  can  I  say  ?     My  hours  of  duty  are  long.     I 

am  usually  free  in  the  afternoon,  from  three  to  five 

o'clock.     On  occasions  like  this,  sometimes  I  attend 

her  highness,  sometimes  T  may  do  as  I  please." 

"  From  three  to  five,  you  say.  I  suppose  you 
remain  in  the  palace  then  ? " 

"  Except  when  I  visit  my  brother.  I  must  go 
now,  monsieur.  Au  revoir!" 

In  a  moment  she  was  lost  in  the  crowd.  You 
may  be  sure  much  had  been  said,  between  their 
opening  colloquy  at  supper  and  their  brief  dialogue 


468  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

at  parting,  to  bring  about  the  tacit  understanding  of 
a  future  meeting. 

So  she  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to  see  her 
brother !  Dick  had  learned  that  the  Prussian  sys 
tem  was  followed  in  Cassel,  —  that  the  troops,  instead 
of  being  lodged  in  barracks,  were  quartered  with 
citizens.  He  walked  the  next  morning  to  the  drill- 
ground  and  armory  of  the  foot-guards,  and,  happily 
meeting  Captain  von  Romberg,  learned  where  Gerard 
had  lodgings.  He  went  immediately  to  the  house, 
which  was  in  a  street  running  east  from  the  platz 
and  through  the  southern  extremity  of  the  old  town. 
It  was  the  house  of  a  glover,  whose  shop  was  on  the 
ground  floor.  Gerard  was  out  on  duty. 

Dick,  rinding  that  the  guardsman  occupied  the 
first-floor  room  towards  the  street,  immediately  hired 
a  corresponding  room  in  an  obscure  inn  across  the 
way.  He  waited  at  the  inn  door  till  he  saw  Gerard, 
in  military  coat  and  buff  cross  belt,  coming  down  the 
street ;  he  then  crossed  over,  with  a  preoccupied  air, 
as  if  going  about  his  business.  Looking  up  sud 
denly,  as  he  came  face  to  face  with  the  soldier, 
Dick  pretended  the  greatest  surprise  at  recognizing 
Monsieur  de  St.  Valier. 

The  recognition  was  not  mutual  at  first,  but,  as 
soon  as  Dick  had  recalled  himself  to  the  other,  the 
young  Frenchman  became  instantly  cordial.  A  min 
ute  later  the  two  were  sitting  in  Gerard's  room, 


A   SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.     469 

expressing  wonder  at  the  strange  chance  that  had 
made  Dick  a  lodger  across  the  street  from  Gerard. 

They  dined  together  at  the  table  d'hote  of  Dick's 
inn,  and  then  returned  to  Gerard's  house,  where  the 
marvellous  coincidence  had  to  be  discussed  over 
again  when  Gerard's  sister  called  in  the  afternoon. 
It  was  his  custom  to  receive  her  in  the  glover's  back 
parlor,  and  on  this  occasion  Dick  was  of  course 
invited  to  be  present.  Not  until  she  had  gone  back 
to  the  palace,  did  Dick  return  to  Lord  George,  who 
had  been  mystified  at  his  absence. 

"  I  have  found  a  secretary,"  said  his  lordship,  who 
also  had  passed  a  great  part  of  the  day  out  of  the 
hotel,  "in  the  shape  of  a  clerk  at  the  French  resi 
dent's  office,  who  has  got  into  trouble  over  cards  and 
a  woman  and  has  to  seek  other  pastures.  But  the 
vacancy  he  will  leave  is  already  provided  for.  I 
don't  know  what  can  be  done  for  you  if  you  are 
determined  to  remain  here." 

"  I  shall  find  something,"  said  Dick ;  "  and,  mean 
while,  I've  taken  a  room  at  a  cheaper  hotel,  where  I 
can  live  for  some  time  on  the  money  I  have.  But 
I  am  as  grateful  to  you  — 

"As  if  I  had  ever  really  done  anything  for  you," 
broke  in  Lord  George,  who  liked  expressions  of  grati 
tude  to  be  cut  short.  He  supposed  that  Dick's 
"  some  time  "  meant  several  weeks,  whereas  it  really 
meant  three  days. 


47°  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

The  next  afternoon  there  was  a  review  of  the  first 
battalion  of  guards,  in  that  part  of  the  park  which 
lay  between  the  summer  palace  and  the  menagerie. 
Lord  George  remained  at  Cassel  on  the  pretext  of  a 
desire  to  see  an  exhibition  of  target-shooting  that 
was  to  be  given  in  connection  with  the  review,  by 
certain  of  the  guardsmen.  Dick  guessed  that  his 
lordship's  real  purpose  in  tarrying  was  to  make 
further  effort  towards  obtaining  employment  for 
him. 

The  two  met  at  Lord  George's  hotel  (Dick  having 
already  moved  to  the  inn  opposite  the  glover's),  and 
rode  on  hired  horses  to  the  reviewing-ground.  It 
was  a  fine  day,  warm  and  sunny.  The  Landgrave 
and  his  chief  officers  were  present  on  horseback. 
The  Landgravine  and  several  ladies  were  in  car 
riages,  at  that  side  of  the  park  which  bordered  on 
the  Fulda  and  at  which  was  the  menagerie.  Dick 
and  Lord  George  took  station,  with  several  other 
horsemen,  near  the  Landgrave's  party.  When  the 
shooting  at  mark  began,  Dick  found  himself  near 
the  place  where  the  men  stood  while  firing.  The 
competitors  were  drawn  up  in  line,  at  right  angles 
with  the  line  formed  by  the  rest  of  the  battalion. 
This  latter  line  formed  the  western  side  of  an 
imaginary  square,  the  targets  were  midway  in  the 
south  side  of  the  same  square,  the  east  side  was 
formed  by  the  menagerie  and  the  carriages,  while 


A   SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.     4/1 

the  north  side  began  with  the  line  of  marksmen,  and 
was  continued  eastward  by  the  groups  of  horsemen. 
After  a  few  shots  had  been  fired,  Dick  observed  that 
the  Landgravine  and  other  ladies  had  got  out  of 
their  carriages  and  were  standing  at  some  distance 
from  them,  so  as  to  see  better  the  effect  of  each 
shot. 

Some  one  had  just  called  Dick's  attention  to  the 

fact  that  Mile.  F ,  the  Landgrave's  Parisian 

mistress,  was  standing  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
Landgrave's  wife,  when  suddenly  a  terrible  roar 
came  from  the  menagerie,  followed  a  moment  later 
by  a  great  four-footed,  striped  figure,  which  bounded 
into  sight,  then  crouched  and  looked  around  with 
ferocious  curiosity. 

"  The  tiger  has  broken  out  !  "  an  officer  exclaimed, 
while  everybody  gazed  at  the  animal  as  if  struck 
dumb  with  sudden  amazement  and  alarm. 

A  man  rushed  wildly  out  from  the  menagerie  after 
the  tiger,  — he  was  the  keeper,  through  whose  care 
lessness  the  beast  had  escaped.  At  this  sight  the 
women  began  to  scream  and  to  run  back  to  the  car 
riages.  In  a  moment  or  two,  the  Landgravine  was 
left  alone.  She  stood  looking  at  the  animal  as  if 
fascinated,  or  as  if  paralyzed  with  terror. 

The  keeper  threw  himself  before  the  tiger.  It 
felled  him  with  a  blow,  drew  the  blood  from  his  face 
with  its  claws,  and  began  to  tear  his  flesh  with  its 


4/2  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS, 

teeth.  The  women  shrieked  with  horror.  The  ani 
mal  looked  up,  glided  across  the  body  of  the  man, 
and  made  swiftly  towards  the  Landgravine. 

A  kind  of  shuddering  moan  went  up  from  the 
whole  field.  Some  officers  dashed  forward  on  their 
horses,  as  if  to  intervene  between  the  Landgravine 
and  the  beast,  though  the  great  distance  made  the 
attempt  a  hopeless  one. 

As  the  tiger  made  its  spring,  a  shot  rang  out. 
The  beast  gave  a  howl  of  pain,  dropped  sidewise, 
and  lay  still,  at  the  Landgravine's  feet,  pierced 
through  the  brain. 

The  officers  looked  around  amazed,  and  saw  Dick 
Wetheral,  afoot,  lowering  a  smoking  gun.  He  had 
slid  from  his  horse  at  the  tiger's  first  appearance, 
run  to  the  nearest  marksman,  seized  the  loaded 
weapon,  and  fired  as  he  had  fired  at  many  a  running 
bear  in  Pennsylvania. 

"Who  fired?"  cried  the  Landgrave,  too  deeply 
moved  to  say  more,  —  for  a  prince  does  not  wish 
his  wife  to  die  a  violent  death  in  his  presence  and 
the  court's,  however  estranged  he  may  be  from  her. 

"I  took  the  liberty,  your  highness,"   said   Dick, 

• 

handing  back  the  gun  to  the  guardsman,  and 
approaching  the  Landgrave. 

"  You  have  saved  the  Landgravine's  life,"  said  his 
highness.  "I  lack  words  in  which  to  express  my 
gratitude.  You  shall  hear  from  me." 


A   SPECIMEN  OF  AMERICAN  SHOOTING.      473 

And  the  Landgrave  rode  quickly  over  to  the 
Landgravine,  who  was  being  supported  to  her 
carriage. 

"You  don't  need  a  Good  Samaritan  any  longer. 
Your  fortune  is  made !  "  said  Lord  George,  as  Dick 
remounted. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE    FAVOR    OF    A    PRINCE. 

DICK  now  seemed  to  stride  towards  felicity  with 
seven-league  boots.  His  famous  long  shot,  decidedly 
the  most  remarkable  given  at  that  afternoon's  exhibi 
tion  of  shooting,  speedily  became  famous.  His  place 
of  abode  being  learned  through  Lord  George,  he  was 
invited  to  court  to  receive  the  thanks  of  the  Land 
gravine  in  person,  with  a  present  of  a  jewelled  watch 
and  a  diamond  ring.  Returning  from  the  palace  to 
his  hotel  opposite  the  glover's,  he  found  awaiting  him 
an  equerry  with  a  superb  black  horse,  a  gift  from  the 
Landgrave.  He  had  no  sooner  seen  this  animal 
stabled,  and  gone  to  his  room,  than  he  was  visited  by 
Count  Mesmer,  accompanied  by  a  lackey  bearing  a 
gold-hilted  dress  sword,  another  token  of  his  high- 
ness's  gratitude.  Mesmer  then  sounded  him  as  to  his 
future,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  raise  suspicion  of  Lord 
George's  having  dropped  a  hint  in  a  proper  quarter. 
The  next  day  Dick  received  an  appointment  to  a  post 
in  the  Academy  of  Arts,  which .  favor  was  to  be  con 
sidered  a  high  one,  for  the  Landgrave  was  a  great 
patron  of  the  arts  and  took  pride  in  his  museum. 

474 


THE   FAVOR    OF  A    PRINCE.  475 

Lord  George  now  departed  from  Cassel,  but  Dick 
did  not  suffer  loneliness.  His  intimacy  with  the  St. 
Valiers  increased.  He  saw  Gerard  every  day,  and 
Catherine  whenever  she  came  to  visit  her  brother. 
He  made  friends  among  officers  and  civilians,  and  he 
had  the  constant  society  of  Rembrandts,  Van  Dycks, 
Raphaels,  Titians,  and  other  creations  of  Dutch  and 
Italian  masters.  His  duties  brought  him  into  fre 
quent  presence  of  the  Landgrave,  who  often  visited 
the  picture  gallery. 

His  highness  soon  showed  a  pronounced  liking 
for  Dick,  conversing  with  him  whenever  occasion 
offered,  and  regarding  his  freedom  of  speech  and 
opinion  with  the  amused  indulgence  that  one  has  for 
a  clever  child.  People  of  the  court  began  to  see  in 
Dick  a  possible  favorite,  and  flattered  him  in  his 
presence,  though  hating  him  in  their  hearts  as  a  suc 
cessful  interloper.  It  annoyed  Dick  to  know  that  he 
was  liked  by  a  prince  whom  every  American  should 
hold  in  enmity ;  and  this  annoyance  became  disgust 
when  his  highness,  from  discussing  the  pictures  of 
women,  would  often  fall  to  discoursing  upon  women 
themselves.  But  Dick  concealed  his  feelings,  listen 
ing  in  silence  to  the  sovereign's  coarse  or  jocose 
remarks  upon  the  sex  for  which  that  sovereign's 
weakness  was  notorious. 

Now  that  his  future  seemed  assured,  Dick  set 
about  carrying  matters  forward  with  Catherine.  The 


476  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

first  sight  of  her  face,  so  noble  and  yet  so  girlish,  so 
reserved  and  yet  so  sincere,  so  open  and  yet  —  from 
its  dark  eyes  and  hair  —  so  mysterious,  had  reawak 
ened  in  him  a  passionate  adoration  beside  which  the 
bygone  manifestations  of  his  heart  towards  Amabel, 
Collette,  and  "  Amaryllis "  were  but  feeble  flutter- 
ings.  To  him  all  other  women  became  insipid  when 
Catherine  reappeared  on  the  scene.  Her  outward 
gravity  betokened  a  nature  of  vast  range  and  un 
fathomable  depth,  a  book  that  could  not  be  read 
through  in  a  day,  a  book  with  new  beauties  and  daz 
zling  surprises  on  every  page.  He  felt  that  she  was 
the  only  thing  in  the  universe  worth  having,  and  he 
pressed  his  suit  accordingly.  Gerard  proved  very 
amiable  by  finding  numerous  reasons  for  sudden 
absence  when  Catherine  called.  She  had  little 
coquetry,  though  much  natural  reserve ;  yet,  having 
been  secretly  disposed  in  his  favor  from  the  first 
(heaven  knows  by  what  undetectable  something  in 
his  face  or  manner),  she  dropped  her  reserve  at  last 
before  his  oft-repeated  "  I  love  you,"  and,  dropping 
her  glance  at  the  same  moment,  yielded  her  hand  to 
his.  It  is  only  in  plays  and  novels  that  confessions 
of  love  are  matters  of  impassioned  declamation  or 
witty  dialogue. 

Dick  told  the  St.  Valiers  of  his  parentage  and  life, 
omitting  only  the  episodes  of  Amabel,  Collette,  and 
"Amaryllis."  An  understanding  was  reached  that 


THE  FAVOR    OF  A    PRINCE.  477 

Catherine  should  become  his  wife  at  some  future 
time  yet  to  be  determined.  As  Dick  was  really  in 
love,  and  so  would  have  turned  Mohammedan  to 
possess  her,  he  readily  agreed  to  adopt  her  religion, 
as  far  as  a  Voltairean  could  adopt  any,  —  that  is  to 
say,  in  outer  appearance  only.  It  was  urged  by  both 
Catherine  and  Gerard  that  the  engagement  should  be 
kept  secret,  and  Dick,  being  in  mood  to  grant  any 
conditions  without  question,  readily  consented.  This 
interview,  like  all  others  between  Dick  and  Cath 
erine  since  the  night  of  the  masquerade,  occurred 
in  the  back  parlor  of  the  glover's  house.  As 
usual,  Catherine  insisted  upon  returning  alone  to 
the  palace,  which  she  always  entered  by  a  private 
door. 

"  Why,"  said  Dick,  "  may  not  a  lady-in-waiting  be 
seen  with  her  affianced  husband  and  her  brother,  in 
the  streets  ?  Here  are  two  people  soon  to  be  mar 
ried  to  each  other,  yet  I'll  wager  nobody  in  Cassel, 
except  Gerard,  knows  they  are  even  acquainted  with 
each  other." 

"We  must  have  patience,"  she  said,  with  a  smile 
in  which  there  seemed  to  be  something  of  sadness. 
Then,  having  gravely  given  him  her  hand  to  kiss, 
she  hastened  from  the  room. 

Dick  and  Gerard  celebrated  the  day  with  a  bottle 
of  wine,  after  which  Gerard  went  on  duty  and  Dick 
to  the  Academy  of  Arts,  which  was  a  few  steps 


THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

south  of  the  palace.  While  there  he  was  sent  for  by 
the  Landgrave,  who  greeted  him  with  a  patronizing 
and  approving  smile,  and  the  words  : 

"  I  wish  you  to  call  immediately  on  the  treasurer 
and  on  the  chief  equerry,  who  have  orders  regard 
ing  your  conveyance  to  Diisseldorf.  I  have  a  com 
mission  for  you  to  execute  at  the  picture  gallery 
there." 

Instead  of  the  look  of  gratitude  and  pleasure  that 
the  Landgrave  had  expected  to  see  on  Dick's  face, 
there  was  one  of  blank  dejection.  To  leave  Cassel, 
though  for  only  a  week,  was  not  in  Dick's  plan  of 
happiness  at  this  time.  But  the  Landgrave's  order 
had  to  be  obeyed,  and  Dick  mustered  up  a  gratified 
expression  before  it  was  too  late. 

The  next  morning  he  started  on  his  journey,  leav 
ing  with  Gerard  a  note  for  Catherine.  The  commis 
sion  was  indeed  one  to  be  envied ;  as  it  was  out  of 
all  proportion  to  Dick's  infinitesimal  knowledge  of 
art,  it  was  the  greater  evidence  of  the  Landgrave's 
favor.  So  Dick  cheered  himself  up  ;  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  the  famous  collection  of  that  other 
elderly  connoisseur  in  art  and  women,  Charles  Theo 
dore  of  Bavaria  ;  attended  to  his  business,  surrounded 
himself  with  the  vision  of  Catherine,  and  suffused  his 
heart  and  mind  with  anticipations  of  his  next  meeting 
with  her. 

It    was    growing  dark  on   a    November    evening, 


THE  FAVOR    OF  A   PRINCE.  4/9 

when  Dick  reentered  Cassel.  It  was  past  the  hour 
when  he  might  have  met  Catherine  at  the  glover's 
house,  but  he  was  so  hungry  for  the  sight  of  her, 
that  he  decided  to  attend  the  usual  evening  assembly 
at  the  palace,  on  the  bare  possibility  of  her  being 
present.  He  knew  that  his  favor  with  the  Land 
grave  would  secure  him  admission  on  his  merely 
sending  in  his  name.  He  therefore  drove  at  once  to 
his  inn,  dressed  and  put  on  the  sword  given  him  by 
the  Landgrave,  which  custom  permitted  him  to  wear 
at  court,  and  hastened  to  the  palace.  It  was  a  little 
after  seven  o'clock,  and  the  reception-rooms  were  full. 

To  Dick's  surprise,  one  of  the  first  persons  he  saw 
was  Gerard  de  St.  Valier,  in  the  uniform  of  a  body 
guard. 

"  Why,"  cried  Dick,  rushing  up  to  him,  and  press 
ing  his  hand,  "  you've  been  transferred,  I  see  !  'Tis 
the  same  as  a  promotion.  We  are  both  in  good 
luck." 

"Yes,"  said  Gerard,  in  a  constrained  manner.  He 
then  cast  a  swift  look  around,  bowed  formally,  and 
hastened  to  another  room,  making  a  pretext  of  being 
on  duty. 

Dick  gazed  after  him  in  amazement.  What  meant 
this  coldness,  this  evidence  of  being  ill  at  ease  ? 
Such  a  reception  from  Gerard  cut  Dick  to  the  heart, 
made  a  tear  start  in  his  eye,  and  gave  him  an  unde 
fined  foreboding. 


480  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

While  he  stood  thus,  there  was  near  him  a  move 
ment  to  either  side,  and  a  general  bowing.  He 
became  aware  of  the  Landgrave's  approach,  just  in 
time  to  step  back  from  his  highness's  way.  But 
the  Landgrave  turned  and  greeted  him  with  a  kindly 
smile. 

"  Back  from  Diisseldorf  so  soon  ? "  said  Frederick 
II.,  in  his  rich  and  deep,  but  heavy  and  guttural, 
voice. 

"  The  feet  move  swiftly  when  they  return  to  where 
the  heart  is,"  said  Dick. 

The  Landgrave,  taking  this  as  an  expression  of 
attachment  to  the  sovereign  presence,  smiled  pater 
nally  ;  then  said  : 

"  I  shall  send  to  hear  your  report  to-morrow.  The 
King  of  Bavaria  has  fine  pictures.  He  used  to  be  as 
famous  for  the  fine  women  he  kept,  also." 

"  So  I  have  heard,  your  highness,"  replied  Dick, 
with  a  side  glance  towards  the  Landgravine  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room,  to  see  if  Catherine  might 
be  among  her  highness's  ladies. 

The  Landgrave,  again  misinterpreting,  followed 
Dick's  glance.  "Ah,"  said  he,  in  a  low  tone, 
audible  to  none  of  those  who  stood  back  from  him 
and  Dick  at  respectful  distance,  "  you  are  thinking 
that  the  court  of  Cassel  also  is  not  without  its  fair 
ones.  And  you  are  right,  my  clear-eyed  Englishman. 
Like  the  rest  of  your  race,  you  will  doubtless  some 


THE  FAVOR    OF  A   PRINCE.  481 

day  write  your  recollections  of  the  court  of  Cassel. 
Like  the  rest,  you  will  give  a  page  to  the  mistresses 
of  the  sovereign.  Well,  tell  me  if  you  think  any  of 
the  ladies  that  even  Louis  XIV.  delighted  to  honor, 
was  fit  to  buckle  the  shoes  of  her  whom  you  see 
standing  beneath  the  picture  of  Diana  yonder." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean,  your  highness  ?  " 

The  Landgrave  was  too  absorbed  in  his  subject 
to  heed  the  note  of  wild  alarm  in  Dick's  swift 
question. 

"The  lady  with  the  black  hair  and  eyes,"  said  the 
Landgrave,  gloating  across  the  distance. 

Dick  turned  cold.  "  Why,"  said  he,  in  what 
faint  voice  he  could  command,  "  I  thought  your 
highness's  favorite  was  Mademoiselle  F !  " 

"King  David  himself  changed  his  mistress  now 
and  then,"  said  the  Landgrave. 

Mad  with  grief  and  humiliation,  Dick  sprang  for 
ward  to  Catherine  de  St.  Valier  —  for  she  it  was 
whom  the  Landgrave  had  pointed  out  —  and  said  : 

"  Mademoiselle,  is  it  true,  —  what  I  am  told  ?  " 

She  gave  a  start  at  first  seeing  him,  then  stood  for 
a  moment  in  a  kind  of  sudden  dismay.  This  gave 
way  to  an  expression  of  surprise,  as  if  he  who  ad 
dressed  her  were  a  stranger  ;  and  then  she  turned  to 
hasten  from  him. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  cried  bitterly,  in  a  voice  that  drew  the 
attention  of  the  whole  assembly ;  for,  as  consterna- 


482  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

tion  had  stopped  his  heart,  rage  now  set  it  beating 
fiercely.  "  It  is  true,  then  !  Faithless  !  " 

She  turned  and  faced  him,  with  a  countenance  as 
pale  as  death.  At  that  instant  Gerard  confronted 
Dick  from  out  of  the  throng,  with  cheeks  as  color 
less  as  Catherine's,  and  cried  out  : 

"Monsieur,  it  is  of  my  sister  that  you  speak !  " 

"  You  know  where  to  find  me,  Monsieur  de  St. 
Valier ! " 

At  Dick's  first  words  to  Catherine,  the  Landgrave, 
with  a  sudden  ejaculation  and  frown,  had  turned  and 
walked  precipitately  from  the  room.  The  Land 
gravine,  seeing  Gerard's  movement,  had  instantly 
hastened  out  by  another  door,  that  her  eyes  might 
not  be  outraged  by  a  scene.  It  was  the  duty  of  all 
the  guests  to  follow,  and  so,  as  if  by  magic,  while  the 
two  young  men  stood  gazing  at  each  other,  with 
Catherine  looking  on  as  if  turned  to  marble,  the 
three  found  themselves  alone  in  the  assembly  rooms. 
Gerard  was  the  first  to  perceive  this  fact.  His  face 
suddenly  lost  its  look  of  wrathful  challenge,  and  took 
on  one  of  deep  sorrow  and  concern.  "  Mon  Dieu  f" 
he  moaned.  "  We  are  lost !  Oh,  Dick,  why  did 
you  come  here  ?  Why  didn't  you  understand  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Understand  what  ?  "  asked 
Dick,  with  a  sudden  fear  of  having  made  a  terrible 
false  step. 

"  That  it  was  for  your  own  sake  and  ours  we  pre- 


THE  FAVOR   OF  A    PRINCE.  483 

tended  not  to  know  you,"  replied  Gerard,  despair 
ingly.  "  The  Landgrave  attributed  my  sister's  re 
pulses  to  the  fact  that  she  loved  another.  We 
have  tried  to  conceal  who  that  other  was,  lest  the 
Landgrave  should  destroy  you ;  we  thought  best  to 
keep  even  our  acquaintance  with  you  unknown  at 
court,  so  lynx-eyed  is  that  evil  old  lieutenant  of  po 
lice,  Rothenstein.  But  now  all  is  out,  and  your 
chance  of  making  your  fortune  is  ruined  !  Even 
your  life  is  in  peril  if  you  stay  in  Cassel  another 
hour  !  " 

"  Let  me  understand  !  "  cried  Dick.  "  Repulses, 
you  said  ?  "  He  turned  to  Catherine.  "Then  it  is 
only  in  the  Landgrave's  evil  hopes,  not  in  fact,  that 
you  are  his  —  that  you  —  " 

"How  can  you  ask  ? "  said  Catherine,  with  a  world 
of  patient  reproach  in  her  voice  and  eyes. 

Dick  knelt  at  her  feet.  "  Forgive  me  !  "  he  said, 
in  a  broken  voice  that  could  utter  no  more. 

She  held  out  her  hand.     He  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"  And  what  are  we  to  do  now  ? "  he  asked,  rising. 

"  You  must  leave  Cassel,"  said  Gerard. 

"  We  must  all  leave  Cassel,"  said  Dick. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  us  to  do  so,  at  present,"  re 
plied  Gerard,  in  despair.  "  We  have  no  other  resource, 
—  no  way  of  living." 

"  But  the  bequest  you  came  from  America  to 
receive  ? " 


484  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"We  were  disappointed  of  that.  Our  right  has 
been  disputed,  and  the  matter  is  in  the  courts." 

"Your  relations  in  Quebec,  and  the  estate  con 
cerning  which  you  were  in  Philadelphia  ? " 

"  We  quarrelled  with  our  uncle  in  Quebec,  and  we 
would  die  before  we  would  go  back  to  his  charity. 
Our  share  of  the  Philadelphia  estate  was  a  trifle,  and 
was  spent  long  ago." 

"  But  you  must  leave  Cassel !  I  shall  find  a  way 
to  provide  for  us  all !  " 

"You  forget,"  put  in  Catherine,  "that  my  brother 
dare  not  leave  without  a  discharge  from  the  military 
service.  He  would  be  taken  as  a  deserter,  and  shot. 
Trust  me,  Wetheral !  I  can  hold  the  Landgrave 
aloof.  His  caprice  will  soon  pass.  You  alone  are 
in  danger.  It  is  best  for  us  to  stay  till  all  can 
be  properly  arranged  for  our  future  somewhere 
else." 

"  Then  if  you  stay,  I  stay !  "  said  Dick,  quietly. 
"  I  will  act  as  if  nothing  had  occurred,  and  await  the 
consequences.  After  all,  the  Landgrave  alone  could 
have  understood  my  meaning,  when  my  miserable 
tongue  so  unjustly  assailed  you.  The  others  would 
think  my  words  merely  the  ravings  of  an  unrequited 
lover.  Yes,  I  will  stay  and  see  what  comes  of  it ! " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Gerard. 

"Thank  God,  then,  we  do  not  have  to  say.  fare 
well  ! "  said  Catherine,  resting  her  eyes  tenderly  on 


THE  FAVOR    OF  A    PRINCE.  48$ 

Dick.  "I  must  hasten  to  the  Landgravine.  Good 
night !  Trust  me,  — and  be  on  your  guard  !  " 

"  I  trust  you,"  said  Dick,  kissing  her  hand  again. 
"  But  let  the  Landgrave  take  care  !  " 

Dick  then  took  leave  of  Gerard,  whose  presence  in 
the  palace  was  a  matter  of  duty  and  not  of  privilege, 
and  hastened  to  his  inn. 

The  next  day,  he  went  at  the  usual  hour  to  his 
room  at  the  Academy  of  Arts.  In  the  course  of  the 
forenoon  he  received  orders  to  submit  in  writing  his 
account  of  his  mission  to  the  Diisseldorf  gallery. 
He  was  glad  that  he  did  not  have  to  report  to  the 
Landgrave  in  person,  for  he  had  no  desire  either  to 
meet  that'  sovereign  again  or  to  enter  the  palace.  In 
the  afternoon  Catherine  came  to  the  glover's  house, 
this  time  attended  by  old  Antoine,  who  had  accom 
panied  the  St.  Valiers  from  Quebec.  The  attendance 
of  a  man-servant  was  part  of  a  lady-in-waiting's  pay, 
and  Catherine  had  been  able  to  secure  Antoine's 
appointment  to  her  service  in  the  palace.  Hitherto, 
other  duties  had  been  allowed  to  prevent  his  following 
her  to  her  brother's.  Catherine  brought  the  news 
that  Dick's  supposition  had  proven  correct,  —  the 
belief  in  the  palace  was  that  hia  outburst  had  been 
merely  a  disappointed  lover's. 

In  the  evening,  while  Dick  was  alone  in  his  room, 
there  came  a  discreet  knock  at  his  door.  Opening, 
he  let  in  a  man  cloaked  and  muffled,  who  immediately 


486  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

closed  the  door  in  a  mysterious  and  secretive  manner. 
The  visitor  then  turned  back  his  cloak  and  disclosed 
the  face  of  Count  Mesmer,  the  callous,  self-assertive 
chamberlain.  He  was  unattended. 

"Good  evening,  Count,"  said  Dick,  bracing  him 
self  for  any  evil  this  visit  might  portend. 

The  Count  took  a  chair  at  one  side  of  a  small  table 
on  which  stood  a  lighted  candle.  Dick  sat  at  the 
opposite  side. 

"  My  friend,"  began  the  Count,  in  a  half  patroniz 
ing,  half  overbearing  manner,  "  that  was  an  unwise 
explosion  at  the  palace  last  evening." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  demanded  Dick,  ruffling 
up. 

"  Oh,  be  calm  !  I  don't  blame  you,  except  for  bad 
judgment.  You  see,  I  am  one  of  the  few  who  knew 
what  it  all  meant.  I  am  a  man  who  keeps  his  eyes 
open.  I  have  not  been  blind  to  what  has  been  going 
on  between  you  and  the  beautiful  lady-in-waiting. 
Neither  have  I  been  blind  to  the  intentions  of  the 
Landgrave.  By  knowing  that  two  and  two  make 
four,  I  understood  last  night's  little  scene  per 
fectly." 

"Then  perhaps  you  have  come  to  explain  it  to 
me!" 

"  Ach,  my  young  friend,  you  come  too  quickly  to 
conclusions  !  Wait  and  listen,  and  be  not  sarcastic  ! 
Why  do  I  say  last  night's  explosion  was  injudicious  ? 


THE   FAVOR    OF  A    PRINCE.  487 

Because  it  could  only  make  matters  worse,  whereas 
there  was,  unknown  to  you,  a  secret  way  of  mending 
them.  Why  do  I  speak  of  the  Landgrave's  inten 
tions  ?  Because  he  is  as  certain  to  carry  them  out 
as  it  is  that  this  candle  burns,  if  the  power  shall 
remain  to  him.  Did  any  one  ever  hear  of  anything 
ever  standing  in  a  prince's  way  when  he  wanted  a 
particular  woman  ? " 

"  It  is  time  then  for  an  exception  to  the  rule." 

"And  if  there  shall  be  an  exception  in  this  case, 
what  will  cause  it  ?  " 

"The  lady  herself,"  said  Dick,  half  inclined  to 
strike  the  Count's  face  across  the  table. 

"  The  lady  herself  !  Granted  that  she  be  a  para 
gon  of  virtue,  do  you  suppose  that  the  will  of  an  ob 
scure  lady-in-waiting  will  endure  long  as  an  obstacle 
to  the  desires  of  a  Landgrave  of  Hesse-Cassel, 
whose  power  over  his  subjects  is  absolute?  What 

% 

becomes  of  a  woman  who  resists  such  power  ?  How 
long  does  her  life  remain  tolerable  ?  What  happens 
to  those  who  support  her  resistance  ?  Do  princes 
have  any  pity  for  those  who  oppose  their  will,  and 
will  Frederick  II.  have  any  conscience  where  his 
desire  to  possess  a  woman  is  concerned  ? " 

Dick  shuddered.  He  knew  what  princely  con 
sciences  were  like,  and  that  the  sovereigns  of  Ger 
many,  of  whatever  title,  had  over  their  own  people 
unlimited  authority. 


488  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

"But,"  he  said,  in  a  slightly  husky  voice,  "you 
spoke  as  if  there  might  be  an  exception  in  this 
case." 

"  And  I  asked  you  what  would  cause  it.  You 
could  not  tell  me.  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  Can  I  trust 
you  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Do  you  give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  what  I 
am  about  to  say  to  you  shall  be  kept  a  secret  as  in 
violable  as  you  would  have  the  honor  of  your  beloved 
one?" 

"  Yes,  —  my  word  of  honor,  as  a  gentleman." 

"Then  the  cause  will  be  this.  You  know  the 
Landgrave  is  a  Catholic.  You  know  his  subjects 
are  Protestants.  You  can  imagine  whether  they 
have  in  their  hearts  forgiven  him  for  forsaking  the 
religion  of  his  fathers.  You  know  that  the  hered 
itary  prince  has  no  love  —  no  words,  even  —  for 
• 

his  father,  the  Landgrave.  You  know  also  the 
Landgrave's  reputation  in  the  matter  of  morality, 
and  that  he  is  nearly  sixty.  Now,  suppose  a  cer 
tain  number  of  the  court  officers,  and  of  those  guards 
who  are  on  duty  about  the  palace  and  the  city, 
should  one  fine  day  lock  his  highness  in  a  chamber, 
place  soldiers  at  the  door,  and  declare  the  hereditary 
prince  to  be  Landgrave  in  his  stead." 

"  Dethrone  the  Landgrave  !  " 

"It  would  be  merely  bringing  the   Landgrave's 


THE  FAVOR    OF  A   PRINCE.  489 

son  to  the  throne  a  few  years  sooner  than  he  would 
reach  it  in  the  order  of  nature.  Do  you  fancy  he 
would  protest  long,  when  despatches  arrived  at 
Hanau,  inviting  him  to  Cassel  ?  Remember  his 
feelings  towards  his  father,  and  that  he  is  already 
thirty-five  years  old.  Do  you  think  the  people 
would  object  to  a  young  and  virtuous  sovereign, 
who  is  not  an  apostate?  Do  you  think  the  army 
would  hold  out  in  behalf  of  a  Landgrave  that  hires 
it  out,  regiment  by  regiment,  to  another  nation? 
What  though  the  hereditary  prince  does  likewise 
with  his  troops  ?  Would  the  soldiers  not  relish  a 
revenge  upon  the  father,  nevertheless  ?  And,  if 
the  Landgrave's  army  should  really  stand  in  the 
way  of  all  this,  has  not  the  hereditary  prince 
the  troops  of  Hanau,  as  well  as  the  Hanoverian 
regiments  there?  Perhaps  you  think  other  powers 
would  step  in  to  prevent  this  forced  abdication  ? 
Then  bear  in  mind  that  the  hereditary  prince  is 
the  son  of  the  daughter  of  an  English  king,  and 
that  that  princess  of  England  was  ill-treated  by 
the  Landgrave.  It  is  true,  the  present  Landgravine 
is  a  collateral  descendant  of  the  house  of  Prussia, 
but,  when  we  consider  on  what  terms  she  lives 
with  her  husband,  do  we  not  find  all  the  more 
reason  why  the  King  of  Prussia  should  take  no 
hand  in  the  Landgrave's  behalf  ?  In  fine,  my  young 
friend,  when  the  Landgrave  is  shorn  of  his  power, 


490  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

we  shall  have  nothing  to  fear  from  him  on  the 
score  of  our  sweethearts  !  " 

And  Mesmer  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  with  a 
self-laudatory  smile,  like  an  orator  who  has  made 
his  point. 

"  But,"  asked  Dick,  eagerly,  leaning  forward  on 
the  table,  to  be  nearer  the  Count,  "  when  is  all  this 
to  be  brought  about  ?  " 

"  First  tell  me,  are  you  willing  to  do  what  you  can 
to  help  bring  it  about  ?  " 

"  Willing  ?  I  am  eager !  Tell  me  what  I  am  to 
do!" 

"  You  are  to  broach  the  matter  to  your  friends 
whom  you  can  trust,  as  I  have  broached  it  to  mine. 
There  is  the  lady's  brother,  St.  Valier,  of  the  body 
guards.  As  he  is  often  on  duty  in  the  palace,  he 
will  be  of  the  greatest  value  to  us.  He  can  sound 
his  comrades,  and  win  them  over.  Then  there  is 
Von  Romberg,  with  whom  I  have  often  seen  you. 
He  can  gain  us  men  from  his  battalion.  If  things 
are  managed  rightly,  and  the  blow  is  struck  at  the 
opportune  moment,  so  that  his  highness  can  be  held 
till  word  gets  to  Hanau  and  back,  a  few  details  of 
the  body-guards,  and  three  or  four  companies  of  the 
foot-guards,  can  carry  the  business  through.  I  will 
answer  for  a  sufficient  number  of  palace  officers." 

"  But  why  do  you  come  to  me,  a  foreigner,  a  man 
without  family  or  influence  ? " 


THE  FA  VOR    OF'  A   PRINCE.  49 1 

"  For  many  reasons.  Because  you  have  much  at 
stake,  and  will  contribute  zeal,  which  is  a  most 
important  factor  in  a  conspiracy.  Because  you  have 
an  ingratiating  manner,  and  can  get  the  ears  and 
confidence  of  men.  Because  your  post  is  one  on 
which  no  eyes  are  turned,  and  you  can  go  about 
unobserved,  talking  to  whom  you  please,  without 
exciting  curiosity." 

"  I  see,"  said  Dick.  "  Depend  upon  me,  Count. 
As  for  what  favors  this  Landgrave  has  done  me  — 

"  My  dear  friend,  you  earned  far  greater  favors 
when  you  saved  her  highness's  life  !  And  this  I 
tell  you,  —  if  you  do  not  strike  the  Landgrave,  he 
will  strike  you !  Who  knows  whether  he  has  not 
already  taken  the  initiative  against  you  ?  Many  a 
first  blow  is  really  given  in  self-defence.  That  is 
your  case,  I  assure  you.  And  now  let  us  talk  of 
details." 

For  the  next  hour  this  strangely  ill-matched  pair 
were  deep  in  the  plans  of  conspiracy.  Then  Mesmer 
hastened  back  to  the  palace,  so  as  to  be  seen  at  the 
card  party,  from  which  he  feared  he  might  already 
have  been  missed. 

Three  weeks  afterwards,  —  that  is  to  say,  near  the 
end  of  November,  —  the  Landgrave  and  his  court 
went  hunting  in  the  great  forest  a  few  miles  south 
east  of  Cassel,  between  that  city  and  Spangenberg. 


492  THE  JtOAD    TO   PARIS. 

Now  and  then,  during  the  chase,  some  gentle 
man  or  other  would  drop  out,  unnoticed,  turning 
his  horse  into  the  thick  woods.  Thus,  one  by  one, 
a  number  of  gentlemen  finally  arrived  at  a  ruined 
Gothic  tower,  in  the  midst  of  a  thick  copse  near 
the  road  that  ran  south  from  Cassel  to  Melsungen, 
-  that  Melsungen  which  was  thirteen  miles  south  of 
Cassel. 

At  intervals,  too,  horsemen  coming  from  the  direc 
tion  of  Cassel,  each  one  stopping  and  looking  care 
lessly  around  to  see  if  he  were  observed,  would  turn 
leftward  from  the  road,  penetrate  the  copse,  and  so 
arrive  at  the  tower,  which  was  a  mere  shell  of  weather- 
beaten  stone,  seamed  with  irregular  crevices,  and 
mantled  here  and  there  with  wild  foliage. 

Each  newcomer,  from  either  direction,  tied  his 
horse  to  a  tree,  and  entered  the  tower,  by  its  high 
Gothic  doorway.  The  second  man  who  arrived  was 
challenged  by  the  first,  who  stood  in  shadow  within 
the  doorway,  with  the  words,  "  Who  comes  ? "  He 
replied,  "  Hesse-Hanau,"  and,  thus  eliciting  the  word 
"Welcome"  from  the  first,  went  into  the  shadow. 
He  found  that  the  first  man  was  the  chamberlain, 
Count  Mesmer. 

"  By  Heaven,"  said  the  second  man,  gaily,  observ 
ing  the  other  in  a  ray  of  light  that  entered  through 
a  lofty  crack  in  the  tower,  "you  are  conspiring  in 
character!  A  scarlet  cloak  certainly  fits  the  rdle." 


THE  FAVOR    OF  A   PRINCE.  493 

The  speaker  was  a  young  Frenchman,  the  Viscount 
de  Rougepont,  who  jested  at  all  times  and  places. 

"You  make  a  light  matter  of  high  treason,  Vis 
count,"  replied  Mesmer,  in  a  somewhat  husky  voice. 

Before  the  Frenchman  could  answer,  another  man 
was  heard  advancing  over  the  fallen  brown  leaves 
outside  the  tower.  The  manner  of  his  admission 
was  the  same  as  that  of  the  Frenchman's.  Within 
a  short  time,  more  than  a  score  of  men  had  thus 
assembled.  Two  remained  on  guard  immediately  in 
side  the  doorway.  The  others,  soon  accustomed  to 
the  half  darkness  of  their  meeting-place,  proceeded 
with  their  business.  The  secretary,  who  was  none 
other  than  Richard  Wetheral,  called  a  roll.  There 
was  a  response  to  every  name  but  that  of  Von 
Romberg. 

"  He  has  been  detained  by  the  sudden  illness  of  a 
dear  friend,  but  hopes  to  join  us  later  in  the  after 
noon.  He  has  authorized  me  to  represent  him," 
said  a  young  gentleman,  —  Gerard  de  St.  Valier. 

"  You  did  not  succeed  in  winning  the  Baron  von 
Sungen,"  said  Mesmer,  addressing  Wetheral,  in  a 
slightly  petulant  way. 

"  He  repulsed  my  very  first  overtures,"  said  Dick, 
in  explanation,  "  and  bade  me,  for  my  own  sake,  go 
no  farther  into  the  subject  with  him.  I  saw  that 
nothing  could  move  his  loyalty.  It  was  prudent  to 
stop  where  I  did." 


494  THE   ROAD    7V   PARIS. 

"  What  a  pity  !  "  said  Mesmer,  with  some  vexation. 

"  I  thought  there  was  no  love  between  you  and 
Von  Sungen,"  put  in  De  Rougepont. 

"What  of  that?"  said  Mesmer,  quickly.  "He 
could  have  brought  over  the  entire  horse-guards  to 
us.  That  is  why  I  say,  what  a  pity  he  is  not  with 
us!" 

"  He  is  playing  hard  for  the  Landgrave's  favor," 
said  the  Frenchman.  "He  is  dying  of  love  for  the 
Baroness  von  Liiderwaldt,  and  wants  to  marry  her. 
So  does  old  Rothenstein,  the  sweet  and  chaste  minis 
ter  of  police.  The  Landgrave  has  the  disposal  of 
her  hand,  and  is  still  undecided  whether  to  make  Von 
Sungen  happy  or  cause  old  Rothenstein  to  snivel 
with  ecstasy.  Hence  Von  Sungen's  unexampled 
devotion  to  his  sovereign." 

"  Gentlemen,  we  can  make  better  use  of  the  little 
time  we  have  than  by  talking  court  gossip,"  said 
Gerard  de  St.  Valier.  "  As  the  one  who  has  been 
chosen  by  lot  to  be  your  presiding  officer,  I  remind 
you  that  our  meeting  is  for  the  purpose  of  making 
the  final  assignments  for  the  action  we  are  to  take 
next  Wednesday  — 

"  Pardon  me  a  moment,  monsieur,"  interrupted  one 
of  the  conspirators.  "  You  will  remember  there  are 
three  gentlemen  here  who  have  not  signed  the  com 
pact.  They  ought  to  have  opportunity  to  do  so, 
before  our  plans  are  unfolded  any  farther." 


THE  FAVOR    OF  A    PRINCE.  495 

"That  is  unfortunate,"  put  in  the  secretary, 
Wetheral.  "  It  ought  to  have  been  thought  of  when 
we  accepted  Count  Mesmer's  suggestion  to  leave  our 
compact  concealed  in  my  room.  The  roll  I  called  a 
few  minutes  ago  was  from  memory.  The  three  new 
members  may  call  at  my  hotel  this  evening  to  sign." 

"That  appears  to  be  the  most  practicable  plan," 
said  Gerard.  "  The  new  members,  nevertheless, 
ought  to  take  the  oath  before  we  proceed  any 
farther.  Let  them  advance  and  repeat  it  after 
the  secretary." 

The  conspirators  were  grouped  semicircularly  at 
one  side  of  the  tower's  paved  interior.  Gerard  and 
Dick  stood  out  a  little  from  the  rest,  their  sides 
towards  the  doorway,  so  as  to  face  the  others.  Three 
young  officers  stepped  out  from  the  crowd  and  stood 
before  Dick,  who  began  to  dictate  an  oath,  which 
they  repeated  in  portions  after  him.  Every  gentle 
man  present  had  brought  with  him  a  sword,  those 
not  in  officer's  uniform  having  small  ones,  which 
could  be  concealed  beneath  their  cloaks.  The  three 
new  comrades  held  their  right  hands  upon  the  hilts 
of  their  swords  in  taking  the  oath.  The  ceremony 
required,  at  its  conclusion,  that  the  whole  assembly 
should  raise  swords  and  utter  a  final  pledge  in  chorus. 
The  two  guards  at  the  door,  their  attention  drawn 
despite  themselves  to  the  impressive  scene  within, 
grasped  their  swords  as  the  others  did,  and  moved 


496  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

imperceptibly  in  from  the  doorway  as  the  conclusion 
was  neared. 

The  three  recruits  echoed  Dick's  low-spoken 
phrases  in  subdued  tones.  He  raised  the  point  of 
his  sword  aloft  in  token  that  they  should  do  likewise. 
Up  went  every  sword  in  the  company,  flashing  back 
what  beams  of  light  strayed  through  the  openings 
overhead.  Eyes,  too,  flashed  with  feeling,  as  all  lips 
united  in  the  closing  words  : 

"  And  to  this  end  we  pledge  life  and  honor ! " 

The  light  from  the  doorway  was  suddenly  cut  off, 
and  a  voice  cried  : 

"  Surrender !  " 

The  conspirators  turned  towards  the  doorway  in 
amazement.  Three  soldiers  stood  upon  the  threshold. 
Behind  them  was  the  officer  who  had  called  out.  In 
a  moment,  a  score  of  bayonets  appeared  beyond  him, 
from  one  side,  and  troops  were  seen  massing  in 
among  the  trees.  It  was  plain  that  a  large  force 
had  stolen  up  with  the  greatest  possible  silence.  The 
conspirators  were,  in  fact,  confronted  by  some  dis 
mounted  horse-guards  and  a  company  from  the 
battalion  of  foot  then  quartered  at  Melsungen.  He 
who  had  demanded  their  surrender  was  an  officer  of 
the  horse-guards. 

No  one  thought  of  making  any  pretence  of  injured 
innocence.  Some  looked  around  to  see  if  there  was 
any  hole  by  which  to  crawl  from  the  tower.  Others 


THE  FAVOR' OF  A   PRINCE.  497 

stood  still,  and  waited  for  the  arresting  party  to  come 
in  and  take  them.  Mesmer  ran  farther  back  into  the 
shadow.  Dick  saw  this  movement,  and  misinterpreted 
it. 

"  He  sees  a  way  out  of  the  tower,"  said  Dick  to 
his  comrades,  and  ran  after  Mesmer.  The  Count 
stumbled  in  the  darkness,  and  Dick  fell  over  him. 
The  soldiers  at  the  door,  surprised  at  this  movement 
within,  now  entered  at  a  run.  The  conspirators  on 
whom  violent  hands  were  first  laid  resisted  on 
impulse.  Thus  was  brought  about  a  brief  scrimmage, 
whose  confusion  was  increased  by  the  twilight  of  the 
place.  Two  or  three  men  tumbled  over  Dick.  As 
soon  as  he  could  do  so,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  clutching 
mechanically  the  cloak  he  thought  to  be  his.  Being 
for  a  moment  out  of  the  hurly-burly,  he  as  mechan 
ically  threw  this  cloak  around  him.  He  then  ran  to 
the  doorway,  which  the  entrance  of  the  horse-guards 
had  left  unobstructed,  although  soldiers  were  drawn 
up  outside  at  a  short  distance  from  it.  As  Dick 
stepped  out  to  the  open  air,  with  some  wild  notion  of 
making  a  rush,  he  saw  muskets  levelled  at  him. 

"  Not  this  one !  "  cried  the  commander,  sharply, 
raising  his  cane  with  a  swift  movement  to  prevent 
any  one's  firing.  To  Dick's  further  amazement,  the 
troops,  a  moment  later,  made  an  opening  in  their 
lines,  for  him  to  pass  through.  He  did  so  with 
alacrity,  traversed  the  rest  of  the  copse,  and  ran 


498  THE  ROAD  -TO   PARIS. 

towards  the  road  from  Cassel  to  Melsungen.  He 
found  his  horse  —  the  one  given  to  him  by  the  Land 
grave —  in  the  wooded  gully  where  he  had  tied  it. 
Mounting,  he  was  soon  in  the  road. 

He  now  heard  a  shout  at  the  edge  of  the  copse 
and  saw  the  same  officer  who  had  enabled  him  to 
pass.  This  officer  was  now  violently  motioning  him 
to  come  back,  and  shouting  orders  to  the  same  effect. 

But  Dick  waved  an  "  au  revoir"  and  started  his 
horse  towards  Melsungen.  A  few  seconds  later 
several  musket-shots  rang  out  from  the  copse,  and 
he  heard  the  sing  of  bullets  about  his  head.  Looking 
back,  he  saw  that  a  number  of  foot-soldiers  were  with 
the  officer,  who  was  vehemently  ordering  a  pursuit. 

"  If  I  were  doing  that  shooting,  the  man  here  in 
my  place  would  be  full  of  lead  by  this  time,"  said 
Dick  to  himself,  as  he  set  his  horse  galloping  towards 
Melsungen.  "There  seems  to  have  been  some  mis 
take  about  my  departure  from  the  tower.  Well,  it 
isn't  for  me  to  rectify  the  errors  of  the  Landgrave's 
officers  ! " 

And,  glancing  down  at  himself,  he  noticed  for  the 
first  time  that  he  wore  a  cloak  of  bright  scarlet, 
instead  of  his  own,  which  was  of  dark  blue. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE    HONOR    OF    A    LADY-IN-WAITING. 

DICK  recalled  now  his  collision  with  the  fallen 
body  of  Mesmer,  and  the  general  tumble  that  had 
ensued  in  the  tower,-  and  he  remembered  having 
noticed  previously  the  bright  color  of  the  Count's 
cloak.  "  Doubtless  the  Count  got  mine  or  some 
one's  else,  in  the  scramble,  and  so  no  one  is 
robbed,"  thought  Dick. 

He  foresaw  that  he  would  be  speedily  pursued 
towards  Melsungen.  He  had  not  lived  in  the  wil 
derness  of  Pennsylvania  to  be  at  a  disadvantage  in 
the  neighborhood  of  a  German  forest,  nor  had  he 
learned  the  ways  of  the  American  Indians  for  noth 
ing.  So  he  very  soon  rode  into  the  woods  at  the 
left,  and,  having  penetrated  to  some  distance  from 
the  road,  deliberately  turned  northward  towards  the 
ruined  tower,  deeming  that  to  be  the  safest  place 
for  him  to  hide  while  considering  the  situation. 
The  captured  conspirators  once  removed  from  it,  the 
tower  would  have  been  left  unguarded,  and  yet  no 
one  would  suppose  that  he  would  return  at  once 

499 


5OO  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

to  a  place  where  he  had  recently  stood  in  such 
great  danger. 

Riding  on  through  the  forest,  he  reached  an  emi 
nence,  from  which  the  descent  on  the  northeastern 
side  was  abrupt  and  steep.  Here,  over  the  tops 
of  trees  that  were  rooted  where  the  precipice  began 
to  be  less  steep,  he  got  a  view  of  the  country  lying 
east  and  north,  small  parts  of  which  country  were 
clear  of  woods.  Through  one  of  these  open  spaces, 
directly  east,  a  procession  of  troops,  some  mounted, 
some  on  foot,  was  moving  towards  the  southeast. 
Dick's  heart  fell  at  the  sight,  although  he  could  have 
expected  nothing  better.  It  was  the  march  of  his 
captured  comrades,  under  an  escort  of  remounted 
horse-guards  and  of  a  company  of  foot,  to  the 
prison-fortress  of  Spangenberg.  He  counted  the 
prisoners,  whom  he  could  easily  distinguish  from 
their  guards.  All  who  had  met  in  the  tower  that 
afternoon  were  there  but  himself.  So  Gerard  must 
be  among  them.  How,  Dick  asked  himself,  could 
their  plot  have  been  discovered  ? 

And  now  he  looked  northward,  towards  the  tower, 
which  the  prisoners  must  have  left  about  two  hours 
before.  He  could  make  out  its  dark,  round,  stone 
top  in  the  midst  of  the  thick  copse.  While  he  was 
gazing  at  it,  he  saw  two  figures  on  horseback  emerge 
from  the  copse  and  proceed  across  a  clear  space 
towards  that  part  of  the  forest  where  the  hunt 


THE   HONOR    OF  A    LADY-IN-WAITING.      50 1 

had  been  in  progress.  One  figure,  stout  and  erect, 
Dick  instantly  knew  to  be  the  Landgrave's ;  the 
other,  so  completely  cloaked  as  to  be  unrecognizable 
by  any  lines  of  shape,  was  that  of  a  woman.  The 
two  soon  entered  the  farther  woods  by  a  narrow 
bridle-path,  and  were  lost  to  view. 

"  An  assignation,"  thought  Dick.  "  No  sooner 
does  the  Landgrave  clear  the  tower  of  conspirators 
than  he  uses  it  for  a  purpose  of  his  own.  To-day's 
hunt  is  remarkable  for  the  number  of  people  who 
have  slipped  away  from  it." 

He  now  pressed  on  to  the  tower.  At  some  rods 
from  it,  he  dismounted  and  tied  his  horse.  He  then 
advanced  cautiously,  to  make  sure  that  the  place  was 
deserted.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  at  sound  of  a  furi 
ous  gallop  on  the  road  from  Cassel  to  Melsungen. 
While  he  listened,  the  horse's  ^footfalls  came  to  an 
abrupt  stop.  After  a  few  minutes  of  silence,  there 
arose  the  sound  of  some  one  treading  crisp  leaves, 
and  forcing  a  way  through  underbrush.  Dick 
grasped  his  sword  and  waited,  knowing  he  would 
have  to  face  but  one  person,  —  for  the  galloping 
had  been  of  a  solitary  horse.  The  newcomer  soon 
appeared  on  foot,  among  the  trees.  It  was  Captain 
von  Romberg,  in  great  excitement  and  alarm. 

"You  are  still  here!"  he  gasped,  seizing  Dick's 
hand.  "  Thank  God,  I  am  in  time !  " 

"  In  time  for  what  ? "  asked  Dick. 


5O2  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

"  In  time  to  save  you  and  our  comrades.  Come, 
the  others  are  in  the  tower,  are  they  not  ? " 

"  The  others  are  on  their  way,  under  a  guard,  to 
Spangenberg." 

"My  God!  Then  I  am  too  late!  I  thought  I 
might  give  a  half-hour's  warning !  We  have  been 
betrayed ! " 

"  So  it  is  evident.  What  do  you  know  of  it  ? 
Come,  my  dear  Count,  sit  here  on  this  log,  and 
tell  me." 

The  two  sat  down  together  at  one  side  of  the 
doorway,  outside  the  tower. 

"I  got  word  from  —  a  certain  lady,"  began  Von 
Romberg,  in  a  half  breathless,  heart-broken  voice, 
"to  come  to  her  at  once,  as  she  was  suddenly  at 
the  point  of  death.  This  was  a  short  time  before 
I  was  to  have  started  for  the  meeting  this  afternoon. 
When  I  entered  her  room  I  found  her  perfectly  well, 
but  in  great  trepidation.  She  said  I  must  not  leave 
her  house  till  night.  When  I  insisted  on  going,  now 
that  I  had  found  she  was  not  ill,  she  broke  down, 
and  told  me  everything.  You  must  know  she  is  the 
—  she  is  on  close  terms  with  the  secretary  of  Roth- 
enstein,  minister  of  police.  Through  this  secretary 
she  had  learned  that  we  have  all  been  terribly  tricked. 
Our  conspiracy  was  instigated  with  the  Landgrave's 
own  authority  !  It  was  an  idea  of  old  Rothenstein's, 
and  the  villain  who  carried  it  out  was  Mesmer !  " 


THE   HONOR    OF  A    LADY-IN-WAITING.      503 

"  But,  —  I  don't  understand.  Why  should  the 
Landgrave  authorize  a  conspiracy  against  him 
self?  " 

"  In  order  to  have  a  reason,  in  the  eyes  of  his 
subjects  and  of  other  powers,  for  removing  certain 
objectionable  persons  from  his  way.  You  are  an 
Englishman,  St.  Valier  a  Frenchman.  Without  a 
good  pretext  he  would  not  dare  have  you  two  im 
prisoned,  lest  your  governments  might  call  him  to 
account.  Moreover,  if  he  took  any  arbitrary  step 
against  yourself,  the  people  might  think  he  was 
secretly  angry  at  you  for  having  saved  the  Land 
gravine's  life.  And  then,  this  woman  told  me,  there 
is  a  lady  whose  hatred  the  Landgrave  does  not  wish 
to  incur,  and  he  would  incur  it  by  causing  your 
destruction  ;  but  now  it  will  appear  that  you  have 
brought  destruction  on  yourself  by  plotting  high 
treason." 

"What  a  diabolical  scheme  !  " 

"  You  see,  my  dear  Wetheral,  we,  who  have  sup 
posed  ourselves  to  be  conspirators,  are  the  ones  who 
have  really  been  conspired  against.  All  was  per 
fectly  arranged.  Even  the  choice  of  officers  by  lot 
was  so  managed  by  Mesmer,  who  conducted  the 
drawing,  that  you  and  St.  Valier  were  designated." 

"  The  base-hearted  Landgrave  would  remove  both 
her  protectors  !  But  what  proof  will  there  be  against 
us,  beyond  Mesmer's  testimony  ?  And  will  not 


504  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

Mesmer's  testimony  betray  the  Landgrave's  whole 
design  ? " 

"Mesmer  will  give  no  testimony.  They  have 
proof  sufficient,  of  the  kind  they  desire.  This  very 
afternoon  they  found  the  signed  compact  in  your 
room  ;  they  knew  from  Mesmer  exactly  where  it  was 
hidden.  Mesmer  will  not  even  appear  among  the 
accused.  It  was  part  of  the  plan  that  he  should  be 
allowed  to  escape,  and  to  stay  out  of  the  country  till 
the  others  were  disposed  of.  To  that  escape  and 
absence,  the  rest  of  us  would  attribute  his  not  being 
punished  with  us,  —  and  not  to  his  having  sold  us 
to  the  Landgrave.  Thus  the  world  was  to  be  kept 
from  knowing  the  despicable  part  this  wretch  had 
played.  And  now  mark  how  little  these  villains 
trust  one  another.  Fearful,  I  suppose,  lest  the 
Landgrave  would  after  all  let  him  suffer,  in  order  to 
make  sure  of  his  silence,  Mesmer  stipulated  that  he 
should  be  allowed  to  escape  at  the  moment  of  arrest. 
Mesmer  once  inside  a  prison,  he  doubtless  thought, 
the  Landgrave  might  consider  a  dungeon  —  or  a 
grave  —  the  safest  place  for  a  man  who  possessed 
the  secret  of  so  detestable  a  transaction.  And,  to 
keep  his  treachery  the  more  hidden,  he  provided 
that  the  arrest  and  his  apparent  escape  should  be 
entrusted  to  an  officer  not  acquainted  with  him." 

"  But  how  then  could  the  officer  know  which  man 
was  to  escape  ? " 


THE   HONOR    OF  A    LADY-IN-WAITING.      505 

"  Mesmer  was  to  be  distinguished  by  a  cloak  of  a 
particular  color,"  said  Romberg. 

"  The  devil ! "  cried  Dick,  smiling  despite  all 
circumstances.  "And  the  cloak  happened  to  be  on 
me  at  the  time  of  the  escape." 

"Listen!"  said  Romberg,  abruptly.  "Some  one 
is  coming." 

The  sounds  of  an  approach  were  indeed  heard 
from  the  side  towards  the  depths  of  the  forest.  The 
two  gentlemen  rose,  and  grasped  their  swords.  A 
moment  later  a  man  stepped  into  view,  whom  they 
both  recognized  by  sight.  He  was  a  French  valet  of 
the  Landgrave's. 

"  Pardon,  messieurs  ! "  he  exclaimed,  after  a  start  of 
fright  at  so  suddenly  coming  upon  the  two  threaten 
ing-looking  gentlemen.  "  I  have  come  here  merely 
to  look  for  a  riding-whip  dropped  by  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Valier  a  short  time  ago."  And  he  stepped 
into  the  tower,  where  he  began  to  search  with  his 
feet  the  paving,  which  was  in  comparative  darkness. 

For  a  moment  Dick's  heart  was  stilled.  The 
blood  left  his  cheeks ;  power  left  his  voice.  He 
followed  the  valet  in.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Valier  was  here  in  this  tower 
a  short  while  ago  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  forced  voice, 
when  he  could  speak  at  all.  He  remembered 
the  cloaked  lady  riding  from  the  copse  with  the 
Landgrave. 


506  THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  the  lackey,  adding  in  a 
significant  tone,  "  and  in  very  excellent  company. 
Ah,  here  is  the  whip,  and  very  far  back  in  the  tower, 
too." 

"  You  rascal !  "  cried  Dick,  his  energy  returning 
with  vehemence,  and  seized  the  valet  by  arm  and 
neck.  "  Do  you  dare  say  that  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Valier  was  in  this  tower  alone  with  the  Landgrave  ? 
Come  into  the  light,  you  miserable  cur,  that  I  may 
see  the  lie  on  your  villainous  face  ! "  And  Dick 
dragged  the  fellow  from  the  tower. 

"  Let  me  go,  monsieur  !  "  whimpered  the  lackey, 
wriggling  in"  terror.  "  Mon  Dien,  is  it  the  fault  of  a 
poor  servant  if  a  lady-in-waiting  allows  herself  to  be 
seduced  by  the  Landgrave?  Don't  make  an  honest 
man  pay  for  the  sins  of  a  prince's  harlot !  " 

"  My  God,  Romberg,  do  you  hear  that  ? "  cried 
Dick,  throwing  the  valet  to  the  ground.  "  And  do 
you  see  that?"  he  added,  picking  up  the  whip,  of 
which  he  now  recognized  the  curiously  formed 
handle,  though  his  last  sight  of  it  had  been  on  that 
New  Jersey  road  where,  three  years  and  a  half  ago, 
he  had  volunteered  to  recover  her  stolen  miniature. 

Von  Romberg,  who  had  begun  to  understand  the 
situation  in  a  general  way,  shook  his  head  sadly,  and 
said,  with  quiet  tenderness,  "  We  must  not  expect 
too  much  of  the  sex,  my  friend." 

Dick  sank  down  on  the  log,  dropping  the  whip, 


THE   HONOR    OF  A    LADY-IN-WAITING.      507 

and  began  to  weep  like  a  child.  The  wild  suspicion 
had  seized  him  that  Catherine  might  have  favored 
the  prospective  marriage  to  himself  either  as  a  cloak 
for  a  liaison  with  the  Landgrave  or  as  a  refuge  on  the 
possible  termination  of  such  liaison.  The  valet,  mak 
ing  no  attempt  to  recover  the  whip,  now  used  his 
opportunity  to  rise  and  dash  off  through  the  woods. 

Suddenly  Dick  started  up,  and  faced  his  kindly, 
pitying  friend. 

"I  will  find  out!"  he  cried.  "The  thing  is  too 
damnable  for  belief.  I'll  not  hold  a  woman  guilty 
till  I've  seen  with  my  own  eyes,  or  heard  from  her 
own  lips.  I  will  go  to  her  as  fast  as  my  horse  can 
carry  me ! " 

"But,"  said  Romberg,  in  great  alarm,  grasping 
him  with  strong  arms  around  the  body,  "is  she  in 
Cassel  ? " 

"  She  is  in  the  palace.  Don't  delay  me,  Rom 
berg,  for  God's  sake  !  " 

"But  they  will  arrest  you.  You  are  guilty  of 
high  treason,  man.  They  are  doubtless  searching 
for  you  now.  It  is  madness  and  suicide  to  go  to 
the  palace.  My  friend,  would  you  throw  yourself 
into  the  Landgrave's  hands  ?  "  For  Dick,  exerting 
all  his  strength,  was  violently  getting  the  better  of 
Romberg's  hindering  embrace. 

"  I  would  learn  the  truth  !  "  he  cried.  "  If  that 
lackey  lied,  I  shall  either  escape  again  or  be  content 


508  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

to  die.  I  would  rather  die  and  know  her  pure,  than 
live  forever  and  doubt  her  honor."  And,  hurling 
Romberg  away  from  him,  he  was  free. 

"  And  what  if  you  find  the  story  true  ? "  called 
Romberg  after  him,  in  a  voice  of  sympathetic 
dismay. 

"  I  will  kill  the  Landgrave ! "  cried  Dick,  and 
bounded  through  the  bushes,  towards  his  horse. 

Late  that  night  Catherine  de  St.  Valier  sat  in  her 
apartment  in  the  palace,  accompanied  only  by  one  of 
the  inferior  attendants,  a  girl  named  Gretel,  who  was 
devoted  to  her.  At  one  side  of  the  chamber  a  pair 
of  curtains  concealed  the  alcove  in  which  the  bed 
was.  At  the  other  side  was  a  door  communicating 
with  a  corridor.  The  chamber  window  overlooked, 
at  some  height,  an  open  space — a  kind  of  small  park 
—  at  the  rear  of  the  palace.  Outside  the  window 
was  a  little  balcony,  and  not  far  away  was  one  of 
a  few  tall  trees  that  grew  in  the  small  park.  On 
a  dressing-table  was  a  candelabrum,  with  but  one 
of  its  branches  lighted,  so  that  the  interior  of  the 
room  was  dim  to  the  sight.  The  night  had  recently 
clouded  over,  and  only  at  intervals  could  the  moon 
be  seen  through  the  dark  window. 

Catherine  sat  on  a  small  couch,  her  face  as  pale  as 
death,  gazing  at  the  opposite  wall  with  wide-open 
eyes,  in  which  grief  and  horror  had  given  way  to  a 


THE  HONOR    OF  A    LADY-IN-WAITING.      509 

kind  of  trance-like  stupoi\  Now  and  then  she  would 
give  a  slight  start,  and  a  tremor  would  pass  through 
her  body,  which  was  attired  in  a  loose  white  gown 
lightly  confined  at  the  waist.  At  such  moments  she 
would  turn  her  eyes  furtively  towards  the  door  lead 
ing  from  the  corridor.  Near  this  door  sat  the  maid, 
Gretel,  silently  watching  with  pitying  eyes  the  half 
dead  lady-in-waiting. 

Suddenly  the  window,  which  was  made  of  two 
casements  running  each  from  top  to  bottom,  was 
flung  rudely  open,  and  in  from  the  balcony  stepped 
a  man,  who  immediately  stood  still  and  looked  around 
until  his  eyes  fell  on  Catherine. 

She  rose  quickly  to  her  feet,  and,  with  bowed 
head,  said,  in  a  low  and  lifeless  voice : 

"You  find  me  waiting,  your  highness." 

"  Highness  !  "  echoed  the  intruder.  "  Then  you 
did  expect  him.  It  is  true.  My  God  !  " 

She  gazed  at  him  like  a  woman  struck  dumb  with 
astonishment,  then  staggered  to  the  dressing-table, 
took  up  the  candle,  and  moved  swiftly  towards  him, 
holding  the  light  so  as  to  illumine  his  face. 

"  It  is  his  spirit,"  she  whispered,  having  made  sure 
that  the  features  were  those  of  Wetheral.  The  girl, 
Gretel,  now  gently  took  the  light  from  Catherine's 
hand,  lest  Catherine  might,  in  her  half  swooning  con 
dition,  drop  it,  and  replaced  it  on  the  dressing-table. 

"  It   is   no   spirit,  mademoiselle,"  said  Dick,  in  a 


510  THE    ROAD    TO    PARIS. 

broken  voice,  "  but  a  living  man  who  might  better  be 
dead,  for  his  last  hope  is  killed,  his  faith  crushed,  his 
heart  torn  with  misery !  Oh,  my  God,  my  God ! 
Oh,  Catherine,  Catherine !  "  And  he  fell  prostrate 
on  the  couch,  hiding  his  weeping  eyes  upon  his  arm, 
and  yielding  his  body  to  be  shaken  by  sobs. 

Catherine  stood  looking  at  him,  while  her  be 
wildered  ideas  approached  a  definite  shape.  But, 
before  she  could  speak,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  his 
grief  having  been  succeeded  by  a  wave  of  fierce  and 
bitter  reproach. 

"  So  I  was  right  when  I  called  you  faithless  before 
the  whple  assembly  that  night !  "  he  cried.  "  So  you 
have  fooled  me  from  the  first !  Oh,  was  there  ever 
such  cunning  ?  How  I  have  been  deceived  by  your 
guileless  air,  your  innocent  face,  the  truthful  look  of 
your  eyes !  Great  God,  is  anything  to  be  trusted  in 
this  world,  when  a  woman  who  seems  so  pure  and 
noble  proves  to  be  not  only  the  harlot  of  a  prince 
but  the  lying  betrayer  of  an  honest  man,  who  loves 
her  with  all  his  soul  ?  Why  have  you  nothing  to 
say  ? "  he  demanded,  with  a  fresh  access  of  rage. 
"  Haven't  you  the  grace  to  defend  yourself  ?  Oh, 
for  God's  sake,  deceive  me  again  !  Lie  to  me,  and  I 
will  believe  you.  Let  me  have  any  reason,  even  the 
smallest,  to  delude  myself  with  the  fancy  that  you 
are  still  mine.  Deny  these  accusations !  Deny 
that  you  expected  the  Landgrave  here  to-night." 


THE  HONOR    OF  A    LADY-IN-WAITING.      511 

"  I  cannot  deny  what  is  true,"  she  said,  quietly  and 
sadly. 

"  Oh,  you  admit  it ! "  he  cried,  wounded  and 
enraged  beyond  all  control.  "  You  brazen  Jezebel, 
I  will  kill  you  !  "  He  grasped  her  by  the  neck,  and, 
as  she  yielded  instantly  to  his  movement,  forced  her 
to  her  knees.  As  he  made  to  clutch  her  throat  she 
threw  back  her  head,  disclosing  the  white  and  deli 
cate  skin  on  which  he  formerly  would  not  have 
inflicted  the  tiniest  scratch  for  the  world.  "  Oh,  I 
cannot,"  he  sobbed,  pressing  his  lips  against  the 
tender  throat,  and  breaking  down  completely.  "Oh, 
Catherine,  Catherine  !  "  He  raised  her,  and  stood 
with  his  arms  enfolding  her.  But,  after  a  moment, 
he  released  her  and  stepped  back,  saying,  plaintively, 
"  To  think  that  you  are  not  mine  to  embrace !  To 
think  that  you  are  the  Landgrave's  !  " 

"The  Landgrave's!"  she  echoed.  "No,  not  yet 
the  Landgrave's,  for  you  are  not  dead,  and  I  am  still 
a  living  woman." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Dick,  startled  into 
a  kind  of  wild  hope. 

"  He  told  me  you  were  dead,  —  that  you  had  been 
shot  while  trying  to  escape  — 

"Who  told  you,  Catherine  ?  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Tell  me,  quickly."  He  took  her  hand,  and  made  her 
sit  beside  him  on  the  couch. 

"  The  Landgrave  told  me,  • —  and  Von  Rothenstein, 


512  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

and  others  who  were  there.  You  see,  I  was  at  the 
hunt,  with  the  Landgravine.  We  all  heard  of  the 
terrible  conspiracy,  and  of  the  arrests ;  and,  while  we 
were  talking  about  it  in  the  forest,  the  prisoners  were 
taken  by,  where  we  could  see  them  all,  —  the  con- 
•  spirators,  arrested  for  high  treason.  And  one  of 
them  was  Gerard,  my  brother  Gerard." 

"  And  the  whole  court  saw  them  led  past  ?  " 
"Yes,  with  Gerard,  my  dear  brother.  When  I 
was  told  that  these  men  were  going  to  prison  and 
would  surely  be  put  to  death  —  oh,  it  was  terrible  to 
think  of,  —  my  brother,  little  Gerard,  as  we  used  to 
call  him,  my  mother  and  I.  Mon  Dieu,  I  would  give 
my  life  to  save  him,  and  so  I  rode  in  search  of  the 
Landgrave,  to  beg  that  he  would  save  Gerard.  Some 
of  the  officers  told  me  where  to  find  him,  —  in  the 
tower  where  the  conspirators  had  been  caught.  I 
went  there,  and  begged  him  on  my  knees  for  Gerard's 
life.  He  sent  away  the  Count  von  Rothenstein  and 
the  others  who  were  there,  and  listened  to  me.  At 
last  he  said  there. was  a  way  in  which  I  might  save 
Gerard,  though  my  brother  was  one  of  the  officers  of 
the  band  and  deserved  death  even  more  than  the 
others  did.  I  said  I  would  give  my  life  to  save 
Gerard's,  —  for  I  knew  that  you,  my  love,  would  not 
blame  me  for  that.  But  the  Landgrave  said  it  was 
not  my  life  he  wished,  it  was  — 
"  I  understand  !  " 


THE  HONOR    OF  A    LADY-IN-WAITING.      513 

"  I  would  not  consent  to  that,  even  to  save  my 
brother.  When  the  Landgrave  became  more  urgent, 
and  began  to  speak  of  my  duty  as  a  sister,  I  said  that 
what  he  asked  was  not  mine  to  give,  that  I  was 
pledged  to  another.  And  then  he  told  me  you  were 
dead,  that  you  had  been  shot  while  trying  to  escape 
when  the  conspirators  were  captured.  For  a  time  I 
could  not  speak.  He  called  back  the  minister  of 
police  and  the  others,  and  asked  them  to  assure  me 
that  you  had  been  killed.  When  I  could  no  longer 
doubt,  something  seemed  to  have  died  within  me.  I 
felt  that  I  was  no  longer  a  living  woman,  that  my  life 
had  gone  out  at  the  news  that  you  were  dead." 

"  My  poor  beloved  !  " 

"Then  the  Landgrave  sent  away  the  others,  and 
spoke  again  of  Gerard,  saying  that  one  of  whose 
treason  there  was  so  much  proof  would  certainly  be 
condemned,  and  that  only  an  arbitrary  order  of  the 
sovereign  could  cause  him  to  be  released.  The 
thought  came  to  me  that  it  was  no  longer  a  living 
woman  that  the  Landgrave  demanded  for  my  brother's 
life,  that  I  was  no  more  Catherine  de  St.  Valier,  and 
that  if  I  should  consent  to  save  Gerard  it  would  be 
giving  the  Landgrave  not  myself  but  a  soulless 
corpse.  Oh,  do  you  not  understand  ? " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand.  I  can  imagine  all  you 
felt ! " 

"  It  was  agreed  that  a  messenger  of  the  Landgrave 


5  14  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

should  go  with  Antoine  to  Spangenberg,  with  every 
thing  necessary  for  Gerard's  release  and  his  flight  to 
France.  The  Landgrave  was  not  to  present  himself 
before  me  until  he  could  bring  proofs,  with  Antoine 
as  an  eye-witness,  of  Gerard's  departure  from  Spang 
enberg.  I  was  waiting  for  him  when  you  came  in 
by  the  window.  So  distracted  I  was,  that,  for  the 
moment,  I  supposed  the  Landgrave  had  taken  that 
way  of  entrance  for  the  sake  of  greater  secrecy." 
"  It  was  I,  who,  for  the  sake  of  secrecy,  chose  that 
way,"  said  Dick.  "  I  was  shot  at  in  escaping  from 
the  tower,  but  they  were  not  my  countrymen  be 
hind  the  muskets  !  I  went  back  to  the  tower,  and 
saw  the  Landgrave  riding  away,  alone  with  a  lady. 
While  I  was  at  the  tower,  a  lackey  came  to  seek  the 
lady's  riding-whip.  When  he  said  the  lady  was  you, 
and  when  I  saw  it  was  your  whip  he  found,  I  was 
mad  with  jealousy  and  doubt,  grief  and  fear,  and  I 
should  have  died  had  I  not  come  to  find  out  the 
truth.  A  friend,  who  had  tried  to  hold  me  back,  fol 
lowed  and  overtook  me  outside  the  city,  persuaded 
me  to  enter  Cassel  with  caution,  and  offered  me  his 
aid.  We  left  our  horses  in  the  woods  outside  the 
city,  obtained  a  boat  from  a  peasant,  rowed  down 
the  Fulda  after  dark,  and  thus  got  into  Cassel  with 
out  crossing  the  bridge  or  meeting  the  guard.  Rom- 
berg  waited  at  the  river  while  I  hastened  to  the  palace. 
I  had  learned  from  Gerard  which  was  your  window,  — 


THE  HONOR   OF  A    LADY-IN-WAITING.      515 

and,  thank  God,  one  can  approach  it  without  passing 
near  the  guards  at  the  palace  doors.  I  climbed  yon 
der  tree  —  as  I  have  climbed  many  a  tree  in  America 
—  and  swung  by  a  branch  to  the  balcony."  He  had 
risen  to  point  out  the  tree,  and  she  had  followed 
him. 

"  Thank  God  you  came  in  time,  —  that  I  knew 
before  it  was  too  late !  "  she  said,  turning  her  eyes 
up  to  his  with  a  grave  and  tender  gaze. 

"  Thank  God  you  still  are  mine ! "  he  replied, 
clasping  her  again  in  his  arms,  and  pressing  a  kiss 
upon  her  lips. 

There  came  a  cautious  knock  on  the  door.  Cath 
erine  gave  a  start. 

"  The  Landgrave,"  she  whispered,  "  coming  to  the 
appointment !  " 

She  gazed  up  at  Dick,  in  questioning  silence. 
Gretel,  who  evidently  understood  the  situation,  cast 
an  inquiring  look  at  Catherine,  and  stood  as,  if  await 
ing  orders.  No  one  in  the  room  moved. 

The  knock  was  repeated.  Dick  had  now  made  up 
his  mind.  "  He  brings  proof  of  Gerard's  safety  ? " 
he  whispered,  interrogatively. 

"  Yes,  or  he  would  not  be  here,"  replied  Catherine, 
under  her  breath. 

Dick  motioned  Gretel  to  come  close  to  him. 
"  Open  the  door,  in  a  moment,"  he  said  to  the  girl, 
"  but  do  it  in  a  fumbling  way,  so  as  to  delay  him  as 


516  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

long  as  possible."  Dick  then  led  Catherine  quickly 
into  the  alcove,  the  curtains  closing  behind  them. 

There  was  a  third  knock,  a  little  louder  and  more 
insistent.  But  Gretel  could  now  be  heard  at  the 
door,  which  she  first  locked  and  then  unlocked,  in 
order  to  carry  out  Dick's  instructions.  When  she 
finally  opened  it,  the  Landgrave  stepped  swiftly  in, 
retaining  the  noiseless  tread  he  had  used  in  the  cor 
ridor.  His  triumphant,  expectant  face,  when  he  saw 
only  Gretel  in  the  room,  took  on  a  look  of  sharp 
disappointment. 

"  The  devil !  "  he  said,  in  a  kind  of  quick  growl. 
"  No  one  here  ?  " 

The  maid,  not  knowing  what  to  say,  pretended  to 
be  absorbed  in  fastening  the  door,  which  she  had 
promptly  closed. 

Noticing  the  curtained  alcove,  the  Landgrave 
started  towards  it ;  but  he  had  not  crossed  the  room 
when  Catherine  appeared,  instantly  letting  the  cur 
tains  fall  to  behind  her. 

"At  last,  mademoiselle,  "  said  the  Landgrave,  joy 
fully,  putting  forth  his  hand  to  grasp  her  own. 

But  she  stood  back  aloof,  and  said,  "The  proofs 
of  my  brother's  release,  your  highness  ?  " 

His  highness  received  this  temporary  rebuff  with 
resignation.  "  Be  sure,  I  have  brought  them,"  he 
said.  "  Have  the  maid  call  your  man-servant,  who  is  in 
the  corridor,  arrived  this  minute  from  Spangenberg." 


"  FREDERICK    II.    RECOILED    A    STEP    OR    TWO." 


THE  HONOR   OF  A    LADY-IN-WAITING. 

Gretel  opened  the  door  and  called  softly,  "  An- 
toine  !  "  Immediately  the  old  servant  entered,  bow 
ing  with  a  grave  deference  that  was  full  of  dignity. 
He  wore  riding-boots,  and  carried  in  one  hand  his  hat 
and  whip,  in  the  other  a  folded  piece  of  paper,  which 
he  now  held  out  to  Catherine.  She  took  it  to  the 
candle-light,  and  read  the  few  lines  hastily  scribbled 
in  pencil.  It  was  a  message  from  Gerard,  and  told 
of  his  release. 

"  You  saw  him  safe  out  of  the  prison  ?  "  she  then 
asked  Antoine. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle." 

"  On  a  good  horse,  and  provided  with  money  ? " 
she  continued,  quoting  from  the  letter. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,  with  my  own  eyes  ;  and  well 
out  of  the  town,  with  a  passport  to  assure  his  not 
being  stopped  anywhere  on  the  road." 

"Then  wait  in  the  corridor,  Antoine.  Will  you, 
too,  Gretel,  wait  there  ? " 

The  Landgrave  looked  surprised  at  these  orders, 
but,  before  he  could  put  his  disapprobation  into  more 
than  a  frown,  the  two  servants  had  left  the  room. 
Catherine  stepped  at  once  to  the  door,  locked  it, 
withdrew  the  key,  and  started  towards  the  alcove. 
The  Landgrave's  frown  gave  way  to  a  smile  of  eager 
gratification,  and  he  made  to  grasp  her  in  his  arms 
as  she  passed  him.  But  she  eluded  his  embrace, 
and  ran  towards  the  alcove.  With  a  look  of  amused 


5l8  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

enlightenment,  as  if  he  thought  her  flight  a  mere 
trick  of  coquetry,  he  ran  after  her ;  but  his  arms, 
again  extended  in  the  hope  of  clasping  her,  closed  on 
nothing  as  the  curtains  fell  behind  her.  His  high 
ness  laughed,  and,  pressing  forward,  opened  the 
curtains  to  follow  her. 

And,  instead  of  the  woman  he  had  thought  himself 
about  to  possess,  he  saw,  standing  where  the  curtains 
met,  that  woman's  lover,  the  man  he  had  tried  to  de 
stroy,  the  man  he  had  reported  dead,  the  man  for 
whom  his  soldiers  were  even  now  scouring  the  roads 
in  the  vicinity  of  his  capital. 

The  look  on  that  man's  face  added  nothing  to  the 
Landgrave's  pleasure  at  the  unexpected  meeting. 

Frederick  II.  recoiled  a  step  or  two,  and  stood  for 
a  moment  as  if  petrified,  his  jaw  moving  spasmodically 
without  producing  any  speech. 

Dick  stepped  out  from  between  the  curtains,  keep 
ing  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  Landgrave's.  Catherine 
now  stood  looking  forth  from  the  alcove,  affrightedly 
watching  for  what  terrible  thing  might  next  occur. 

The  Landgrave  recovered  himself,  and  made  for 
the  door. 

"You  forget  it  is  locked,"  said  Dick.  "It  is  true, 
you  might  call  for  help,  but  if  you  did  I  should  kill 
you.  Do  not  look  incredulous.  I  know  that  ordi 
narily  you  are  a  sovereign  prince,  with  a  people  and 
an  army  behind  you,  and  that  I  am  a  hunted  man, 


THE   HONOR   OF  A   LADY-IN-WAITING.      519 

the  least  powerful  in  your  dominion.  But  at  this 
moment  we  are  on  fairer  terms,  with  just  what 
powers  nature  gave  us,  except  that  I  have  a  sword 
and  you  have  not.  So  now  it  is  the  weaker  man  that 
is  my  subject,  the  stronger  man  that  is  your  prince  !  " 

The  Landgrave  looked  at  the  door,  Dick's  sword, 
then  at  Catherine. 

"  Treachery ! "  he  said,  in  a  voice  deprived  of 
strength  by  his  feelings.  "  For  this  I  freed  your 
brother,  mademoiselle,  trusting  you  implicitly.  It 
seems  one  needs  more  assurance  than  the  honor  of 
a  lady-in-waiting ! " 

"Your  highness  may  recall,"  said  Dick,  "that  her 
promise  was  made  on  your  assurance  that  a  certain 
person  was  dead.  Did  that  lie,  and  the  plot  by  which 
her  brother  was  tricked  into  his  peril,  comport  with 
the  honor  of  a  sovereign  prince  ?  But  this  is  wasting 
time  and  talk.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Valier  and  I  in 
tend  to  leave  this  palace  unhindered  and  unpursued. 
It  rests  with  you  as  to  the  state  in  which  you  shall 
be  left  behind." 

The  Landgrave  looked  bewildered.  It  seemed  in 
credible  that  a  ruling  prince  should  be  so  helplessly 
placed,  in  his  own  palace,  but  a  second  glance  assured 
him  that  this  was  no  dream,  —  that  the  locked  door, 
the  sword  in  Dick's  hand,  and  the  expression  on 
Dick's  face,  were  very  actual  facts. 

"  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Valier  shall  never  go,"  his 


520  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

highness  said  at  last.  "As  for  you,  I  will  let  you 
pass  out  free.  I  cannot  forget  the  service  you 
rendered  the  Landgravine." 

Dick  gave  a  short  laugh  of  derision.  "  Can  I  not 
get  it  through  your  thick  skull,"  he  said,  "that  I  am 
the  one  in  position  to  offer  terms  ?  You  sovereign 
princes  of  Germany,  we  are  told,  have  absolute 
power,  but  you  seem  to  be  very  stupid.  In  my 
country,  we  are  quicker  to  grasp  a  situation.  It  is  a 
country,  too,  that  has  recently  declared  all  men  to 
be,  in  their  rights,  created  equal.  So  you  see  that, 
to  me,  the  blood  of  a  prince  is  no  more  sacred  than 
another  man's !  " 

At  this  moment  there  came  from  the  door  one  of 
those  creaking  or  straining  sounds  that  seem  to 
occur  unaccountably. 

The  Landgrave  gave  a  start  of  elation,  as  if  this 
sound  betokened  an  interruption.  But  Dick  in 
stantly  flashed  his  sword  before  the  Landgrave's 
eyes,  and  said  : 

"  If  any  one  breaks  in  while  I  am  here,  he  will 
find  something  stretched  on  the  floor,  and  to-morrow 
the  people  will  cry  '  Long  live  the  Landgrave ! '  for 
your  son.  You  see  that  each  moment  we  lose  is  as 
dangerous  to  you  as  to  me,  because  it  brings  the 
possibility  of  interruption." 

The  noise  at  the  door  proved  to  signify  nothing ; 
whereupon  the  Landgrave,  who  had  given  a  shudder 


THE   HONOR    OF  A    LADY-IN-WAITING.       $21 

at  Dick's  picture  of  the  possible  morrow,  now  showed 
as  much  relief  as  he  had  first  shown  pleasure. 

"  Then  what  do  you  request  ? "  asked  the  Land 
grave,  trying  to  conceal,  by  his  best  pretence1  of 
dignity,  his  inward  rage  and  chagrin. 

"  I  request  nothing,"  said  Dick.  "  I  demand 
nothing.  I  merely  offer  to  leave  without  harming 
you,  on  condition  that  you  will  not  give  any  alarm  of 
our  departure,  or  orders  for  our  pursuit." 

"  Very  well,  I  agree,"  said  the  Landgrave,  with  a 
readiness  that  made  Dick  laugh  again. 

"  Of  course  you  do,  for  you  think  you  can  break 
the  condition,  and  have  us  stopped  by  your  guards 
before  we  are  out  of  the  city,  or  even  out  of  the 
palace.  I  must  provide  against  that." 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  neither  to  leave 
this  room  nor  to  make  any  alarm,  till  daybreak." 

"  It  seems,  one  needs  better  assurance  than  the 
honor  of  a  sovereign  prince,"  said  Dick,  imitating 
the  Landgrave's  own  words  with  a  slight  alteration. 
He  then  took  from  his  pocket  a  phial  given  him  at 
the  riverside  by  Romberg,  who  had  provided  himself, 
on  hearing  of  the  trick  played  on  the  conspirators, 
with  means  of  self-destruction  in  case  of  capture. 
Dick  quickly  took  up  a  pitcher  of  water  from  the 
table,  poured  some  of  it  into  a  glass,  uncorked  the 
phial  with  his  teeth,  and  dropped  a  small  portion  of 
the  liquid  into  the  water.  Meanwhile,  Catherine, 


522  THE  ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

foreseeing  Dick's  plans,  put  on  a  hooded  cloak,  and 
gathered  up  her  purse  and  what  small  things  of 
value  she  desired  to  retain. 

"Drink  this,"  said  Dick  to  the  Landgrave,  from 
whom  he  had  not  for  an  instant  taken  his  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  said  the  Landgrave,  turn 
ing  pale. 

"  To  make  it  easier  for  you  to  keep  your  princely 
word,  your  highness  !  Don't  be  afraid.  It  takes 
more  than  this  quantity  to  kill  a  man.  What  is  here 
will  merely  enable  you  to  pass  the  few  hours  till  day 
break  in  sleep.  It  would  be  a  pity  so  great  a  prince 
should  suffer  from  insomnia  or  ennui  during  that 
length  of  time !  Drink,  man  !  I  am  becoming  a  little 
bored  with  this  place,  myself." 

An  impatient  movement  of  the  sword  —  which 
weapon  Dick  had  so  managed  as  to  check  every  one 
of  his  highness's  numerous  impulses  to  rush  upon 
him  —  ended  Frederick's  hesitation.  He  petulantly 
drank  the  contents  of  the  glass,  and  handed  it  back 
to  Dick,  who  motioned  him  to  put  it  on  the  table  and 
to  go  to  the  couch. 

"  Call  Antoine,"  said  Dick  to  Catherine,  follow 
ing  the  Landgrave  close  to  the  couch  on  which  the 
latter  dropped. 

Noiselessly  Catherine  unlocked  the  door  and  let  in 
the  two  servants.  Gretel,  as  soon  as  she  saw  what 
was  up,  begged  to  be  taken  along,  and  found  a  cloak 


THE   HONOR    OF  A   LADY-IN-WAITING.      $2$ 

for  herself  in  the  room.  Antoine,  at  Dick's  whis 
pered  direction,  took  coverings  from  the  bed  in  the 
alcove,  and  knotted  them  together  so  as  to  form  a 
means  of  descent  from  the  balcony.  Meanwhile, 
Catherine  had  relocked  the  door  and  possessed  her 
self  of  the  phial,  which  Dick  had  placed  on  the 
table. 

"Come,"  said  Dick,  taking  Catherine's  hand  and 
leading  the  way  towards  the  open  window,  when 
at  last  the  Landgrave  slept.  "  Put  out  the  light, 
Antoine,  and  let  us  hasten.  In  a  few  hours,  that  old 
snoring  rascal  will  be  a  prince  again  ! " 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

"THE    ROAD    TO    PARIS." 

DICK  descended  first,  then  came  Catherine,  Gretel 
next,  Antoine  last.  While  the  four  were  speeding, 
in  the  darkness,  from  the  open  grounds  of  the  palace, 
Antoine  bethought  him  that  he  had  not  yet  dismissed 
the  horse  on  which  he  had  come  from  Spangenberg. 
He  therefore  went  and  got  the  animal,  in  sight  of  the 
guards  at  one  of  the  doors,  who  supposed  he  had  left 
the  palace  by  another  exit.  He  then  rode  boldly  out 
of  the  town,  crossing  the  bridge  to  take  the  Mel- 
sungen  road.  As  he  not  only  knew  the  password  for 
all  guards  and  patrols,  but  was  also  known  to  have 
been  riding  on  the  Landgrave's  business,  he  was  not 
detained  a  moment  on  the  bridge.  He  rode  on  to  a 
place  that  Dick  had  named  as  a  rendezvous. 

Meanwhile,  Dick  and  the  two  women  joined  Rom- 
berg  at  the  riverside,  silently  got  aboard  the  boat, 
and  rowed  up  the  Fulda  to  a  point  some  distance  out 
of  the  city.  Here  they  disembarked  and  found  the 
two  horses  where  the  gentlemen  had  left  them.  In 
a  few  minutes  they,  too,  were  pressing  forward  on 

524 


"THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS."  $2$ 

the  Melsungen  road,  Catherine  mounted  behind 
Dick,  Gretel  behind  Romberg. 

"What  road  is  this?"  asked  Catherine,  whose 
sense  of  locality  and  direction  had  been  confused  by 
the  darkness  and  the  haste. 

"  It  leads  first  to  Melsungen,"  said  Dick,  "  but  for 
us  it  is  merely  the  first  stage  of  the  road  to  Paris  ; 
we  shall  not  stop,  except  to  eat  and  sleep  and  change 
horses,  till  we  arrive  there." 

Dick  felt  certain  he  could  now  return  to  Paris 
without  incurring  danger  there.  He  would  make 
himself  known  at  once  to  the  American  commission 
ers,  and  so  establish  connections  that  would  not  allow 
of  his  being  imprisoned  again  without  inquiry.  As  a 
citizen  of  a  country  now  France's  ally  in  war,  he 
would  have  little,  if  anything,  to  fear  from  Necker, 
as  long  as  he  should  act  prudently.  As  for  the 
secret  Brotherhood,  perhaps  it  no  longer  existed. 
Now  that  he  had  not  four  armed  men  at  his  elbows, 
he  felt  he  could  take  care  of  himself.  But  he  trusted 
most  to  the  likelihood  of  his  being  unrecognized 
after  such  a  lapse  of  time. 

Meanwhile,  he  was  yet  several  days'  journey  from 
Paris,  and  far  from  being  out  of  the  dominion  of  his 
friend,  Frederick  II.  of  Hesse-Cassel. 

When  the  four  riders,  on  the  two  horses,  neared 
the  place  where  Antoine  was  to  have  waited,  they 
heard  a  horse  coming  towards  them  from  ahead,  and 


526  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

soon  the  dark  figure  that  loomed  up  on  its  back 
proved  to  be  his. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said  to  Dick,  "there  is  a  body  of 
horsemen  approaching  from  the  direction  of  Mel- 
sungen.  They  must  be  the  troops  that  the  Landgrave 
sent  in  search  of  you  after  your  escape  yesterday." 
Antoine  had  been  informed  of  recent  occurrences 
by  the  messenger  whom  he  had  accompanied  to 
Spangenberg. 

"  Shall  we  turn  back  and  take  the  by-road  we 
passed  awhile  ago  ? "  asked  Dick,  of  Romberg,  who 
was  better  acquainted  with  the  country. 

"  It  is  the  only  thing  to  do,"  said  Romberg,  suiting 
action  to  the  word  by  turning  his  horse. 

When  the  party  had  moved  a  few  rods  back 
towards  Cassel,  there  came  from  the  direction  of  the 
city  a  sullen  boom,  breaking  with  startling  effect  the 
silence  of  the  night. 

"The  alarm-gun,  "said  Romberg,  checking  his  horse. 

"  That  is  fired  for  deserters,  is  it  not  ? "  said  Dick, 
following  his  example. 

"  But  deserters  might  have  robbed  gentlemen,  and 
taken  their  clothes  and  horses,  with  which  to  escape," 
said  Romberg.  "  That  gun  warns  the  country  to 
look  out  for  fugitives  of  any  kind." 

"  The  Landgrave  must  have  awakened  too  soon 
and  given  the  alarm,"  said  Dick.  "  I  let  him  off  with 
too  small  a  dose." 


«  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS."  $2? 

At  that  instant  there  was  heard  a  distant  hollow 
sound  like  thunder,  but  less  uneven. 

"  Horsemen  galloping  over  the  bridge  at  Cassel," 
said  Romberg. 

"  A  pursuing  party,  without  any  doubt,"  said 
Dick.  "  Hang  my  thoughtlessness  !  The  guards  saw 
which  way  Antoine  came.  Well,  we  must  reach  the 
by-road  before  they  do." 

"That  is  impossible,"  said  Romberg.  "We  should 
meet  them  before  we  arrived  there." 

"  But  if  we  wait  here  they  will  be  upon  us  in  a 
few  minutes.  And,  if  we  resume  our  way  towards 
Melsungen,  we  shall  meet  the  party  that  Antoine 
discovered.  Hark,  I  can  hear  that  party  now  !  " 

Romberg  looked  around,  scanning  the  dark  country 
on  both  sides  of  the  road.  Here  the  land  was  quite 
clear  of  trees,  and  every  object  was  now  and  then 
made  visible  by  the  appearance  of  the  moon  through 
cloud-rifts. 

"  There  is  a  ruined  abbey,  at  the  head  of  that  short 
lane,"  said  Romberg.  "  Perhaps  if  we  should  hide 
there  till  these  two  parties  meet,  — 

"As  neither  party  would  have  come  upon  us  on 
the  way,"  said  Dick,  "they  might  suppose  we  had 
taken  some  other  road,  after  all.  Come,  then.  'Tis 
our  only  chance." 

The  three  horses  were  instantly  turned  into  the 
lane.  The  abbey  was  now  used  as  a  barn.  The  wide 


528  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

door  was  barred  on  the  outside  with  a  piece  of  wood, 
merely  to  keep  it  from  being  opened  by  the  wind. 
The  men  dismounted  and  led  the  horses  into  the 
dark  interior,  which  smelled  of  hay  and  grain.  They 
closed  the  door,  but  there  was  no  way  of  bolting  it  on 
the  inside.  The  women  now  dismounted,  and  the 
party  stood  in  silence,  trusting  that  their  horses 
would  not  in  any  way  betray  their  presence. 

As  fate  would  have  it,  the  two  forces  of  horsemen 
—  the  one  commanded  by  the  officer  who  had  let 
Dick  escape,  the  other  by  the  Baron  von  Sungen  — 
met  near  the  mouth  of  the  lane  leading  to  the  barn. 
Torches  were  lighted,  and  the  two  leaders  conferred 
for  some  time.  Then  Von  Sungen,  who  was  not  only 
the  superior  in  rank  but  was  also  the  more  recently 
from  Cassel  and  had  the  Landgrave's  latest  orders, 
got  off  his  horse,  seized  a  torch  from  one  of  the 
bearers,  and  started  up  the  lane,  followed  afoot  by 
six  of  his  men. 

The  gentlemen  in  the  barn  saw  this  movement 
through  chinks  of  the  door. 

"It  is  Von  Sungen,"  said  Romberg.  "He  must 
have  a  strong  personal  interest  in  your  capture,  that 
he  should  come  to  search  with  his  own  eyes." 

He  and  Dick  drew  their  swords.  Antoine  held 
ready  a  pistol,  which  he  had  carried  in  his  saddle-bag 
on  his  Spangenberg  journey. 

Von  Sungen's  concern  seemed  indeed  very  great, 


"  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS."  529 

for  so  rapidly  he  strode  that  he  reached  the  barn  a 
dozen  feet  ahead  of  his  men.  He  opened  the  door, 
and  thrust  in  his  head,  preceding  it  with  his  torch. 

Before  any  one  could  make  a  movement,  the  atten 
tion  of  all  was  drawn  by  Catherine,  who  said  to  Dick 
and  Romberg : 

"  Flee  for  your  lives,  gentlemen !  Don't  heed 
me.  I  shall  be  dead  before  he  can  lay  a  hand 
upon  me." 

And  she  held  to  her  lips  the  phial  that  Dick  had 
left  on  her  table  in  the  palace. 

Dick  ran  to  grasp  her  hand,  and  Von  Sungen  cried 
out  to  her,  in  the  utmost  alarm,  "  For  God's  sake, 
not  that,  mademoiselle !  "  He,  too,  would  have 
rushed  in  to  prevent  her,  but  his  breast  was 
menaced  by  the  sword  of  Romberg. 

Meanwhile  the  dismounted  men  who  had  accom 
panied  Von  Sungen  from  the  road,  had  halted  at  a 
respectful  distance  from  him,  and  they  now  stood 
awaiting  orders,  which  he  was  too  much  occupied 
with  Catherine's  movements  to  give.  The  men 
could  not  see  the  inside  of  the  barn,  or  hear  what 
was  said  there. 

"  Oho  !  "  said  Romberg  to  Von  Sungen.  "  Your 
interest  in  mademoiselle's  welfare  betrays  you.  You 
have  orders  to  take  her  back  alive." 

"  You  have  the  gift  of  second  sight,  my  dear 
Romberg,"  said  Von  Sungen,  watching  Catherine, 


530  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

who  still  held  the  phial  to  her  lips,  although  Dick's 
hand  upon  her  wrist  could  have  dashed  it  from  her 
at  any  moment. 

"Then,"  said  she  to  Von  Sungen,  "the  instant 
your  men  approach,  I  will  take  this  poison,  I 
swear ! " 

"  Therefore,  Baron,"  put  in  Dick,  "  to  prevent 
accident,  you  would  better  order  your  men  away, 
while  we  discuss  matters." 

"  If  your  frame  of  mind  is  for  discussion,  I  am 
quite  willing  to  do  that,"  said  Von  Sungen,  who  him 
self  feared  that  some  sudden  movement  of  his  men 
might  precipitate  Catherine's  threatened  action.  He 
turned  and  spoke  a  few  words  to  the  six,  who  there 
upon  faced  about  and  marched  back  to  the  road, 
where  the  two  mounted  forces  waited.  Only  Von 
Sungen  as  yet  knew  who  were  in  the  barn.  He 
had  given  his  followers  the  impression  that  his  talk 
was  with  peasants  who  might  put  him  on  the  track 
of  the  fugitives. 

"And  now,  mademoiselle  and  messieurs,"  said 
Von  Sungen,  "  will  you  listen  to  reason  ?  You 
cannot  fail  to  see  how  impossible  is  your  escape 
from  this  place,  with  all  those  horse-guards  watching 
from  the  road.  Even  if  you  could  kill  me  — 

"We  have  no  desire  to  do  that,"  said  Dick.  "God 
knows  there  are  few  enough  kind  hearts  and  cheer 
ful  faces  in  the  world,  as  it  is.  But  we  are  as 


"  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS."  531 

determined  to  escape,  or  all  to  die  together,  as  you 
probably  are  to  capture  us." 

Von  Sungen  here  stepped  into  the  barn,  but  the 
look  on  Catherine's  face  promptly  checked  him  from 
going  any  nearer  to  her. 

"My  orders  are,"  he  said,  "to  bring  back  Mon 
sieur  Wetheral  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Valier,  both 
alive,  if  possible  ;  or,  if  need  be,  the  gentleman  dead, 
but  the  lady  alive  in  any  event.  Nothing  was  said 
of  Captain  von  Romberg." 

"Nevertheless,"  put  in  that  gentleman,  "Captain 
von  Romberg  joins  his  fate  with  theirs,  until  all  are 
safe  or  dead." 

"  You  are  sure  to  fail  of  carrying  out  your  orders, 
Baron,"  said  Catherine.  "  I  will  never  go  back  to 
Cassel  alive." 

"  Not  even  if  I  take  on  myself  the  risk  of  letting 
Monsieur  Wetheral  go  free  ?  In  that  case  you  will 
save  his  life,  as  well  as  that  of  Captain  von  Rom 
berg,  who  seems  determined  to  die  with  his  friend. 
Moreover,  you  will  be  saving  your  own  life  as  well," 
said  Von  Sungen. 

"A  man  of  honor  like  the  Baron  von  Sungen," 
said  Dick,  with  the  gentlest  shade  of  scorn  and 
reproach,  "  must  have  a  very  strong  motive  for 
proposing  that  two  other  men  of  honor  should 
accept  their  lives  on  the  terms  given." 

"  It  is  true,"  replied  Von  Sungen,  "  I  have  a  large 


532  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

stake  in  this  night's  business, — as  great  a  one  as 
yours,  monsieur." 

"  How  can  that  be  possible  ? "  said  Dick. 

"I  will  prove  it  to  you,"  said  Von  Sungen.  "I 
infer  that  you  love  this  lady,  and  that  your  greatest 
wish  is  to  preserve  her  from  the  purposes  of  the 
Landgrave.  Well,  I  love  a  lady,  and  my  dearest 
desire  is  to  save  her  from  a  marriage  that  would  be 
for  her  a  degradation  as  great  as  any  woman  could 
feel  in  becoming  the  Landgrave's  favorite.  Don't 
tell  me,  monsieur,  that  marriage  would  lessen  the 
horror  of  a  virtuous  woman's  union  with  old  Rothen- 
stein.  Well,  the  Baroness's  hand  is  at  the  disposal 
of  the  Landgrave.  He  has  hesitated  whether  to 
favor  Rothenstein  or  yield  to  my  entreaties.  To 
night,  when  his  highness  sent  me  to  seek  you,  he 
said,  '  Bring  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Valier  back  alive, 
and  you  shall  marry  the  Baroness  von  Liiderwaldt 
when  you  please.  Come  back  without  mademoiselle 
alive,  and  Rothenstein  shall  marry  your  Baroness 
to-morrow.' ' 

"  My  poor  Von  Sungen !  "  said  Dick,  his  ready 
imagination  putting  himself  for  the  moment  in  the 
place  of  the  other,  with  whom  his  own  case  enabled 
him  perfectly  to  sympathize. 

"Well,  monsieur,"  said  Von  Sungen,  "it  seems 
that  both  of  us  must  lose  our  sweethearts  and  our 
lives,  for  if  mademoiselle  will  not  save  your  life,  and 


"THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS."  533 

enable  me  to  save  my  sweetheart,  I  will  kill  myself. 
I  would  no  more  live  to  see  'her  wedded  to  that  vile 
old  wretch,  Rothenstein,  than  you  would  live  to  see 
your  beloved  possessed  by  the  Landgrave.  But, 
mademoiselle,  will  you  not  save  your  lover's  life  in 
spite  of  himself  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  go  back  to  the  Landgrave,"  she  said, 
with  calm  resolution.  Her  agreement  for  the  saving 
of  her  brother  had  been  made  on  the  belief  that  her 
lover  was  dead,  and  before  she  had  experienced  the 
horrible  emotions  that  came  with  a  later  conception 
of  what  that  agreement  would  require  of  her. 

The  Baron  sighed  in  despair.  Suddenly  he  uttered 
an  exclamation  : 

"  Ach  !  Since  for  each  of  us  it  is  all  or  death,  let 
at  least  one  of  us  have  all !  You  must  admit,  our 
stakes  are  equal  or  nearly  so.  I  repeat,  I  should 
suffer  as  much  from  the  Baroness's  marriage  to 
Rothenstein  as  you  would  from  mademoiselle's  falling 
into  the  hands  of  the  Landgrave.  So  let  us  appeal 
to  chance.  If  you  win  the  throw,  you  shall  both  go 
free,  you  and  the  lady ;  I  will  go  back  without  her, 
and  take  the  consequences.  But  if  I  win,  the  lady 
shall  go  back  with  me." 

"  You  consider,"  said  Dick,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  that  even  chances  are  preferable  to  the  certainty  of 
mademoiselle's  taking  the  poison." 

"  Good  God,  monsieur,  do  you  not  consider  like- 


534  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

wise  ?  Come.  If  you  lose,  you  can  at  least  die,  as 
I  shall  do  if  I  lose.  It  is  the  honor  and  happiness  of 
your  sweetheart  against  the  self-respect  and  happiness 
of  mine,  the  life  and  happiness  of  yourself  against 
the  life  and  happiness  of  myself.  Why,  if  you  lose, 
mademoiselle,  too,  can  die,  if  she  wishes,  after  I  have 
taken  her  back  to  the  Landgrave.  So  you  are  no 
worse  off  for  abandoning  your  position  of  certain 
destruction  for  us  all,  and  for  allowing  chance  to  save 
one  of  us  for  happiness." 

"The  issue  is  too  important  to  leave  to  chance," 
said  Dick,  quietly.  "Let  us  determine  it  by  skill." 

"  Very  well ;  but  what  game  of  skill  have  we 
here  the  means  of  playing  ?  " 

'"There  is  a  game  of  skill  that  gentlemen  play 
with  swords,"  said  Dick. 

"  Excellent !  "  cried  Von  Sungen,  understanding. 
"  And  the  game  in  our  case  has  this  advantage,  it 
can  be  so  played  that  the  loser  need  not  survive  his 
loss.  Let  it  be  a  duel  to  the  death,  monsieur,  so 
that  the  unfortunate  one  shall  not  be  under  the 
necessity  of  killing  himself." 

"Agreed,"  said  Dick. 

"  But  I  will  not  consent,"  cried  Catherine.  "  Even 
if  you  fight  and  lose,  I  will  not  go  back  to  the  Land 
grave  ;  I  will  take  the  poison." 

"In  this  cause  I  cannot  possibly  lose,"  said  Dick, 
pressing  her  hand.  "Give  your  consent,  dearest." 


"THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS."  535 

She  looked  at  his  calm  eyes,  his  unmoved  counte 
nance,  his  steady  hands,  and  said,  after  a  moment : 

"Very  well." 

"  Then,  Baron,"  said  Dick,  "you  may  take  meas 
ures,  regarding  the  troops  out  there,  to  enable  us  to 
depart  unhindered  when  you  are  dead." 

"If  I  send  them  away—  '  Von  Sungen  began, 
but  paused. 

"  We  give  you  our  word  of  honor,  we  will  not  es 
cape  from  you  otherwise  than  by  my  killing  you  in 
this  fight,"  said  Dick. 

"  Captain  von  Romberg  will  not  interfere  ?  "  said 
the  Baron. 

"  Not  unless  to  prevent  the  intrusion  of  some  pos 
sible  third  party,"  answered  Romberg. 

"I  will  return  in  a  minute,"  then  said  Von  Sungen. 
"  You  may  wish  to  have  a  light  while  I  am  gone," 
and  he  handed  his  torch  to  Antoine. 

He  walked  down  the  lane  to  the  waiting  horsemen, 
and  ordered  the  second  in  command  to  lead  the  two 
forces  back  to  a  certain  junction  of  roads.  "  I  am 
making  some  inquiries,"  he  added,  "that  may  help 
us  in  this  search.  Meanwhile,  keep  close  watch  on 
the  by-road  till  I  join  you." 

The  troops,  puzzled  but  not  permitted  to  question, 
rode  off  in  the  direction  of  Cassel.  Von  Sungen, 
who  had  taken  from  one  of  them  a  second  torch,  now 
strode  back  to  the  barn  with  it.  He  found  Dick 


536  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

ready  for  the  contest,  for  which  the  barn  floor  pre 
sented  a  sufficient  arena.  The  baron  handed  the 
second  torch  to  Romberg,  and  silently  made  his 
preparations.  The  four  who  were  to  be  spectators 
moved  to  where  Antoine  had  already  led  the  horses, 
at  one  end  of  the  barn  floor.  The  torches  threw  an 
uneven  red  light  on  the  scene,  leaving  the  surround 
ings,  here  obscure,  and  there  entirely  lost  in  shadow. 

Dick  and  Von  Sungen  faced  each  other,  without 
the  least  hatred,  indeed  with  great  esteem,  but  each 
determined  to  kill  the  other.  The  swords  clashed. 
The  advantage  in  duelling  experience  lay  strongly 
with  Von  Sungen.  Dick  had  fought  only  one  duel, 
but  he  bad  recently  resumed  practice  with  the  foils 
under  a  lrrench  fencing-master  at  Cassel.  Moreover, 
Von  Si  gen  was  still  fully  under  the  excitement 
with  wh  h  he  had  started  on  the  pursuit,  while  with 
Dick  thi  incident  had  been  immediately  preceded  by 
so  many  scenes  of  danger  that  he  could  now  face 
anything  with  calmness.  So  he  fought  cautiously, 
at  first  only  guarding  against  the  other's  impetuous 
attack. 

Finally  the  Baron's  exertions  began  to  tell  upon 
him,  and  a  wild  thrust  betrayed  either  that  his  eye 
was  no  longer  true,  or  that  his  brain  had  lost  perfect 
control  of  his  arm.  Dick  felt  it  was  now  but  a  mat 
ter  of  time  that  the  Baron  should  lay  himself  open  to 
a  decisive  lunge. 


"  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS."  537 

Suddenly  the  barn  door  was  flung  open  from  the 
outside,  and  two  men  stepped  unceremoniously  in, 
armed  with  swords  and  pistols,  and  the  second  one 
bearing  a  torch. 

"Aha !  "  cried  the  first,  flashing  up  his  sword.  "  I 
thought  you  might  be  in  danger !  "  And  he  ran  to 
the  aid  of  Von  Sungen. 

"  Curse  you  for  meddling  against  orders  !  "  cried 
the  Baron,  enraged  at  this  assistance.  "Don't  in 
terfere,  I  command  you  !  " 

And  the  fight  went  on,  between  Von  Sungen  and 
Wetheral.  The  Baron's  officer,  who  had  come  back 
with  one  of  the  horse-guards,  —  on  what  pretext  was 
never  known,  —  stepped  aside,  amazed.  But  in  a 
few  moments  this  officer  whispered  something  to  the 
horse-guard  with  him,  and  the  latter  started  for  the 
door.  By  this  time  Romberg  and  Antoine  had  both 
run  past  the  fighters  and  neared  the  door.  Antoine, 
unwilling  to  make  a  noise  by  firing  a  shot,  thrust  his 
torch  into  the  departing  soldier's  face,  and  then  felled 
the  suddenly  blinded  man  to  the  floor  with  a  blow  of 
his  pistol.  The  interfering  officer,  with  a  fierce  oath, 
instantly  ran  his  sword  through  Antoine's  body, 
drawing  it  immediately  out  to  defend  himself  against 
Romberg,  who  had  lost  time  in  finding  a  place  for 
his  torch.  The  old  servant  fell  dead  across  the 
soldier  he  had  knocked  senseless,  and  the  torches  of 
the  two  blazed  up  from  the  ground.  Romberg  and 


THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

the  officer  now  had  a  rapid  exchange  of  thrusts,  the 
two  being  evenly  matched.  But  a  sharp  cry,  from 
a  few  feet  away,  drew  for  an  instant  the  attention  of 
the  officer,  and  Romberg's  sword,  piercing  his  lung, 
stretched  him  on  the  floor  near  the  other  two 
prostrate  bodies. 

The  cry  that  the  officer  had  heard  was  the  death 
cry  of  Von  Sungen,  who  now  lay  silent  and  motion 
less  at  Dick's  feet. 

"  Poor  Baroness  von  Liaderwaldt !  "  said  Dick, 
gently,  wiping  his  sword  with  a  wisp  of  hay. 

Catherine  seized  Dick's  hand,  and  pressed  it  in 
silence,  then  ran  over  towards  Antoine. 

"  He  is  quite  dead,"  said  Romberg,  rising  from  a 
brief  examination  of  the  old  servant's  body. 

Catherine  gazed  at  the  prostrate  figure  a  moment, 
with  sorrowful  but  tearless  face,  and  then  allowed 
Dick  to  lead  her  to  a  horse. 

When  Dick  and  Romberg,  having  assisted  Cath 
erine  to  mount,  went  to  help  Gretel,  the  girl  refused, 
saying  she  had  thought  to  be  of  assistance  to 
mademoiselle,  but  had  found  herself  only  an  encum 
brance.  Therefore,  in  order  that  the  flight  should 
be  no  more  delayed  on  her  account,  she  would  not 
accompany  the  fugitives  further,  but  would  walk  to 
her  home  near  Homberg,  where  she  would  be  safe 
from  the  inquiries  of  the  Landgrave  and  his  officers. 
As  the  girl's  resolution  was  not  to  be  overcome,  and 


"THE    ROAD    TO   PARIS."  539 

as  time  was  precious,  the  three  went  forth  without 
her,  there  being  now  a  horse  for  each.  Catherine 
rode  on  a  man's  saddle,  of  which  the  gentlemen 
hastily  readjusted  the  stirrups  so  that  she  might  sit 
in  feminine  fashion.  In  leaving  the  barn,  the  men 
put  out  the  torches,  and  Dick  possessed  himself  of 
old  Antoine's  loaded  pistol,  as  well  as  of  his  cloak, 
in  place  of  which  he  left  the  scarlet  one. 

The  fugitives  avoided,  by  a  detour  through  fields, 
the  bridge  that  crossed  to  Melsungen  ;  and  they  con 
tinued  southward  along  the  right  bank  of  the  Fulda. 
Now  and  then  they  stopped  to  rest  their  horses. 
Dawn  found  them  suffering  from  fatigue,  but  they 
rode  on.  At  a  farmhouse  they  stopped  and  fed 
their  horses,  also  refreshing  themselves  with  milk 
and  eggs.  At  noon  they  arrived  at  the  town  of 
Fulda,  having  covered  the  sixty  miles  from  Cassel, 
without  change  of  horses  and  over  bad  roads,  in 
eleven  hours. 

On  entering  Fulda  they  gave  the  officer  of  the 
guard  false  names  and  a  prepared  story.  They 
learned  that  a  close  watch  was  being  kept  for  an 
officer  in  a  scarlet  cloak  ;  so  Dick  was  thankful  for 
having  exchanged  with  poor  Antoine.  The  search 
begun  yesterday  had,  thus,  evidently  extended  as  far 
as  to  Fulda.  With  the  discovery  of  Von  Sungen's 
fate,  new  parties  would  be  sent  in  every  direction. 
Dick  was  loath  to  lose  time,  but  the  fatigue  of  all 


54-O  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

three  was  so  great  that  dinner  and  a  few  hours  of 
sleep  were  taken  at  the  inn  at  Fulda.  Four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  saw  the  fugitives  again  on  the 
road. 

The  shortest  route  to  France  was  by  way  of 
Frankfort,  for  which  city  they  now  made,  intending 
to  travel  by  night,  and  to  give  a  wide  berth  to  what 
ever  walled  towns  might  lie  in  the  way.  Fortunately, 
their  horses  were  of  a  stock  characterized  by  great 
endurance. 

They  had  been  about  two  hours  out  of  Fulda,  when 
they  saw  a  horseman  galloping  up  behind  them.  As 
this  cavalier  himself  looked  back  frequently,  it  ap 
peared  more  likely  that  he  feared  pursuit  than  that 
he  was  to  be  feared  as  a  pursuer.  When  he  was 
quite  near,  Romberg  cried  out : 

"  By  God's  thunder,  it  is  the  traitor,  Mesmer  !  So 
they  have  let  him  escape,  after  all !  " 

"  Escape  ? "  said  Dick,  with  a  grim  kind  of  smile. 
"Do  you  call  his  falling  into  our  hands  an  escape?" 
And  Dick  turned  to  go  and  meet  the  newcomer. 
But  Catherine  caught  his  arm,  so  that  he  had  to  rein 
up  to  avoid  dragging  her  from  her  horse. 

"  Let  this  be  my  affair,"  said  Romberg,  and  imme 
diately  rode  towards  Mesmer,  drawing  his  sword  as 
he  did  so. 

Mesmer  suddenly  recognized  the  two  gentlemen 
and  divined  Romberg' s  purpose.  Bringing  his  horse 


"THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS."  54! 

to  an  abrupt  stop,  he  drew  a  pistol,  with  which  he  had 
in  some  way  provided  himself,  and  fired  straight  at 
Romberg  as  the  latter  came  up.  Romberg  instantly 
tumbled  from  the  horse  to  the  road,  and  lay  still, 
retaining  his  sword  in  the  rigid  grasp  of  death. 

Dick  gave  a  cry  of  grief  and  wrath,  tore  his  arm 
from  Catherine's  hold,  and  galloped  towards  Mesmer, 
drawing  his  own  pistol  and  firing  as  he  went.  A 
shriek  cleft  the  air,  and  the  traitor  rolled  on  the 
earth,  close  to  the  body  that  he  himself  had  bereft 
of  life  a  moment  ago. 

Dick  quickly  ascertained  that  both  were  dead,  then 
remounted  his  horse,  seized  the  bridle  of  Catherine's, 
and  spurred  forward.  Not  a  word  passed  for  some 
time,  both  indulging  in  silence  the  emotions  pro 
duced  by  this  latest  swift  tragedy.  Presently  Dick 
said,  "  If  we  should  report  to  the  next  town's  authori 
ties  that  those  two  bodies  are  back  there  in  the  road, 
we  should  doubtless  be  detained,  and  all  would  be 
lost.  So  I  shall  merely  tell  the  first  honest-looking 
man  we  meet,  where  the  bodies  lie  and  whose  they 
are.  My  poor  Romberg !  " 

This  plan  Dick  soon  carried  out,  and,  as  in  this 
case  his  judgment  of  a  face  was  correct,  the  two 
bodies  were  subjected  neither  to  robbery  nor  to  final 
consignment  to  unknown  graves. 

At  nightfall  Dick  and  Catherine  gave  their  horses 
rest  and  food  at  a  village  hostelry,  and  then  resumed 


542  THE    ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

their  journey,  pretending  they  had  little  farther  to 
go.  But  they  rode  all  night,  making  what  battle 
they  could  against  fatigue,  and  what  defence  their 
cloaks  enabled  them  to  maintain  against  the  cold. 

They  entered  Frankfort  a  few  minutes  after  the 
gates  were  opened  for  the  day.  As  this  was  a  free 
city,  it  seemed  likely  that  they  were  out  of  danger, 
although  it  might  turn  out  that  the  Landgrave's  arm 
could  reach  them  here,  through  his  resident,  as  the 
arm  of  Frederick  of  Prussia  had  reached  Voltaire 
twenty-five  years  before.  But  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  they  should  have  sleep,  so  Dick  took 
the  risk  of  riding  at  once  to  the  inn  called  the 
Emperor,  and  ordering  rooms  and  breakfast.  As  they 
dropped  into  chairs  in  the  dining-parlor,  more  dead 
than  alive,  they  heard  an  exclamation  of  surprise 
from  a  man  they  had  vaguely  perceived  across  the 
table.  Both,  looking  up  at  the  same  moment,  recog 
nized  Gerard  de  St.  Valier. 

This  meeting  revived  the  worn-out  energies  of 
Dick  and  Catherine,  and  explanations  were  quickly 
made.  Gerard,  having  been  released  from  Spangen- 
berg  some  hours  before  the  other  two  had  left  Cassel, 
and  having  taken  at  Melsungen  a  shorter  route  than 
that  by  way  of  Fulda,  had  arrived  in  Frankfort  late 
the  previous  night.  And,  a  few  minutes  after  his 
arrival,  a  great  event  had  occurred.  He  had  met  at 
this  inn  a  lawyer's  clerk,  on  the  way  from  Paris  to 


"  THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS.  "  543 

Cassel,  with  papers  awarding  at  last  to  the  St.  Valiers 
the  bequest  that  had  been  disputed  in  the  courts. 
This  news  made  the  future  look  rosy.  It  assured 
the  St.  Valiers  of  a  moderate  competency,  and  would 
make  it  possible  for  Dick  to  marry  Catherine  without 
fear  of  her  being  tied  to  destitution  through  any 
failure  of  his  own  to  find  fortune. 

It  was  agreed  to  remain  at  the  Emperor  until 
noon,  that  some  hours  of  sleep  might  be  had.  Then 
the  three  were  to  start  Parisward  on  their  horses, 
this  mode  of  travel  —  no  longer  a  common  one  for 
ladies  —  being  retained  because  it  was  by  far  the 
most  rapid. 

When  Dick  and  Catherine  reappeared  from  their 
rooms,  at  the  time  set  for  taking  horse  again,  they 
met  Gerard,  whose  face  wore  a  look  of  disquietude. 

"  I  have  paid  the  bills,  and  the  horses  are  ready," 
he  said  to  Dick,  in  a  low  tone.  "  Let  us  lose  no  time 
in  getting  out  of  the  city  and  territory  of  Frankfort." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  asked  Dick. 

"  In  the  street,  awhile  ago,  I  saw  Wedeker,  who 
always  bears  the  Landgrave's  important  despatches, 
ride  up,  on  a  foaming  horse,  to  a  house  that  he 
almost  broke  his'  way  into,  he  was  in  so  great  a 
hurry.  I  asked  a  passer-by  what  house  it  was.  It 
was  that  of  the  Landgrave's  Frankfort  resident. 
Wedeker  is  doubtless  straight  from  Cassel,  with 
orders  to  have  you  held  in  Frankfort ;  and  in  a  very 


544  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

short  time,  if  the  resident  can  have  his  way  with 
the  authorities,  the  city  guard  will  be  on  the  hunt 
for  us." 

"  Let  us  go,  then.  This  running  away  from  au 
thorities  seems  to  have  become  a  fixed  habit  of 
mine,"  said  Dick,  giving  his  hand  to  Catherine. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  three  fugitives  rode  westward 
through  the  Mainz  gate,  Dick  giving  a  sigh  of  relief 
as  they  emerged  to  the  open  suburb  bordering  the 
river  Main. 

"  Evidently  no  orders  concerning  us  have  yet 
reached  the  gates,"  he  said,  looking  back  at  the  stolid 
guard  they  had  just  passed. 

"  We  are  not  yet  out  of  the  territory  appertaining 
to  the  city  of  Frankfort,"  said  Gerard. 

"And  if  we  get  out  of  it,"  said  Dick,  "we  shall 
have  to  look  out  for  this  Wedeker,  I  suppose,  until 
the  last  foot  of  German  soil  is  behind  us." 

"Probably,"  replied  Gerard ;  "but  we  have  the  start 
of  Wedeker,  and,  as  the  local  authorities  will  nowhere 
send  their  troops  or  police  out  of  their  own  terri 
tory,  he  must  travel  alone  much  of  the  time.  If  he 
should  come  up  to  us  alone,  between  one  town  and 
another  —  " 

"  Some  one  else  would  subsequently  have  the 
honor  of  carrying  the  Landgrave's  important  des 
patches,"  put  in  Dick.  "We  ought  to  have  taken 
fresh  horses,  Gerard.  Catherine's  and  mine  are 


"THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS."  545 

almost  run  out.  They  have  done  incredible  service 
already." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Catherine's  mount 
staggered,  stumbled,  and  lay  panting  on  its  side.  Its 
rider  slid  from  the  saddle  in  time  to  escape  injury. 

Gerard  and  Dick  came  to  a  quick  stop.  "  My 
beast  is  fresh,"  said  Gerard.  "You'd  best  ride 
behind  me." 

Dick  got  off  his  own  horse,  and  assisted  Catherine 
upon  Gerard's.  Then  he  remounted  his  own  ;  but 
he  had  no  sooner  done  so  than  the  animal  sank  under 
him,  the  last  bit  of  strength  having  passed  from  its 
trembling  limbs. 

"  The  deuce  !  "  exclaimed  Dick.  "  I  imagine  your 
beast  is  hardly  fresh  enough  to  carry  three,  Gerard  ? " 

Gerard  laughed,  in  spite  of  this  setback,  at  the 
droll  manner  in  which  Dick  asked  this  question. 

Then  Dick  turned  his  eyes  back  towards  Frankfort, 
took  on  a  peculiar  smile,  and  said,  in  the  coolest  and 
mildest  of  voices  : 

"  It  is  a  pity,  —  because  I  see  a  number  of  soldiers 
or  police  riding  out  of  the  gate  we  rode  through  a 
few  minutes  ago." 

Gerard  looked  around,  and  turned  pale.  "  My 
God  !  "  said  he.  "  It  is  the  city  guard  !  And  don't 
you  recognize  Wedeker  by  his  uniform,  with  the 
officer  at  their  head  ? " 

Dick   heaved  a  gentle   sigh,  then  looked  at  his 


THE   ROAD    TO  PARIS. 

empty  pistol  and  his  sword.  "  This  is  an  occasion 
for  horses,  not  for  weapons,"  he  said,  with  his  former 
quietness.  "To  think  that,  after  all  the  flying,  the 
fighting,  and  the  killing,  a  man  should  be  nabbed  at 
last,  merely  for  want  of  a  fresh  horse.  Why  do  you 
wait,  Gerard  ?  You  can  easily  escape  with  Catherine. 
You  must  save  her." 

"  And  leave  you  ?     Never !  " 

"Well  said,  my  brother,"  whispered  Catherine. 

"  I  see  yonder  a  kind  of  country  inn,  to  judge 
from  the  horse-shed  near  it,"  said  Dick,  indicating  a 
low  building  a  short  distance  ahead  on  their  road. 

He  started  towards  it  afoot,  followed  by  the  two 
who  were  mounted.  When  he  reached  the  shed, 
he  saw  therein,  to  his  amazement,  two  horses.  A 
peasant  was  in  the  act  of  giving  them  grain. 

"Whose  animals  are  these,  my  friend?"  queried 
Dick. 

"  They  belong  to  a  soldier,  mein  herr,  who  arrived 
last  night  with  the  black,  and  won  the  gray  from 
another  guest,  at  cards." 

"  And  where  is  this  fortunate  person  to  be  found  ? " 

"  In  the  house,  mein  herr ;  in  the  first  room  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs." 

"  I'll  go  and  try  to  make  a  bargain  with  him," 
said  Dick. 

"No,"  said  Gerard,  "let  me  go.  I  am  now  better 
able  to  make  bargains  than  you  are."  And  he  leaped 


"  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS."  547 

off  his  horse  and  ran  to  the  house.  He  desired 
that  he,  not  Dick,  should  be  at  the  expense  of  the 
purchase. 

Dick  stood  waiting  beside  Catherine,  looking  now 
into  her  anxious  eyes  with  a  reassuring  smile,  now 
towards  the  distant  troops  that  were  steadily  drawing 
nearer  on  the  road. 

Soon  Gerard  reappeared  from  the  house,  with  a 
dejected  face.  "  The  fellow  refuses  to  sell,"  he  said. 
"  He  sat  playing  a  violin,  and  blamed  me  for  inter 
rupting  his  music.  I  think  we  should  be  justified  in 
taking  one  of  his  horses,  in  spite  of  him." 

"  You  cannot  do  that,  mein  herr,"  said  the  peas 
ant,  looking  towards  the  inn,  from  which  came  the 
sounds  of  men  gambling  and  drinking. 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  is  this  horse-owner  ?  "  asked 
Dick,  not  as  if  with  any  hope,  but  as  if  duty  required 
the  last  possible  effort. 

"  A  gaunt  rascal,"  said  Gerard,  "  who  began  to 
answer  me  in  French,  and  then  veered  into  a  kind  of 
Scotch-English,  with  an  Irish  phrase  or  two." 

A  strange,  wondering  look  came  over  Dick's  face. 
"  Let  me  try,"  he  said,  in  a  barely  audible  voice,  and 
made  hastily  for  the  house. 

He  flung  open  the  door,  rushed  up  the  rickety 
stairs,  and  stopped  before  a  chamber  at  their  head. 
From  within  came  the  sound  of  a  fiddle  scraping  out 
the  tune  of  "  Over  the  hills  and  far  away." 


548  THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

Dick  burst  into  the  room,  crying  out,  "  Tom  Mac- 
Alister,  dear  old  Tom,  /  am  the  man  that  wants  to 
buy  your  horse  !  " 

"'Tis  no  sic  a  vast  warld,  they  that  do  a  mickle 
travelling  will  discover,"  said  MacAlister,  as  he  and 
"the  three  fugitives  cantered  westward  towards  Ma- 
yence,  having  left  the  Frankfort  territory,  and,  conse 
quently,  the  Frankfort  city  guard,  far  behind  them. 

The  two  St.  Valiers  rode  one  of  Tom's  horses, 
which  were  both  stronger  and  fresher  than  the  ani 
mal  on  which  Gerard  had  come  out  of  Frankfort. 
The  latter  beast  now  carried  MacAlister,  who  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  being  overtaken,  and  whose  sec 
ond  horse  was  ridden  by  Wetheral.  The  piper's 
son  had  not  expressed  any  great  surprise  at  seeing 
Dick,  a  fact  explained  by  him  in  the  words  already 
quoted. 

"  I  mak'  nae  doot  your  ain  presence  in  these  parts 
was  brought  aboot  in  the  most  likely  way,"  he  con 
tinued  ;  "  and,  sure,  there's  devil  a  bit  extraordinary 
in  my  being  here." 

He  then  gave  account  of  his  movements  since  the 
attack  on  Quebec.  Exchanged,  with  Morgan  and 
the  other  prisoners,  he  served  under  that  gallant 
commander  in  the  glorious  campaign  of  Saratoga. 
His  term  of  enlistment  expiring  on  the  very  day  of 
Burgoyne's  surrender,  he  voluntarily  accompanied  the 


"THE   ROAD    TO   PARIS."  549 

troops  that  escorted  the  defeated  British  and  Hessian 
army  to  Boston.  In  that  town  he  met  a  Virginia 
Scotchman,  whose  people  he  had  known  in  Scotland. 
This  man,  who  had  added  the  name  of  Jones  to  that 
of  John  Paul,  held  the  rank  of  captain  in  the  newly 
projected  navy  of  the  United  States  of  America,  and 
was  on  the  very  eve  of  sailing  from  Portsmouth,  New 
Hampshire,  in  a  vessel  called  the  Ranger.  Love  of 
diversity  impelled  Tom  to  ship  for  the  cruise  across 
the  Atlantic.  Sailing  November  i,  1777,  the  Ranger 
captured  two  prizes,  sent  them  to  the  port  of  Malaga, 
and  arrived  on  the  second  of  December  at  Nantes,  in 
the  harbor  of  which  Captain  Jones  caused  the  new 
flag  of  the  United  States  to  receive  its  first  salute  in 
European  waters,  as  its  white  stars  set  in  blue  and 
its  red  and  white  stripes  fluttered  high  above  the 
Ranger's  deck.  MacAlister  accompanied  Jones  to 
Paris,  where  he  grew  weary  of  inaction  while  the 
captain  was  trying,  with  the  aid  of  the  American 
commissioners,  to  obtain  a  certain  fine  frigate  for 
the  new  navy.  So  Tom,  in  whom  a  returning  incli 
nation  for  some  more  European  service  had  begun 
to  assert  itself,  started  for  Germany,  with  a  thought 
of  finding  employment  in  the  war  that  Frederick  of 
Prussia  had  been  conducting  against  Austria,  since 
the  first  of  the  present  year  of  1778,  over  the  Bava 
rian  succession. 

"  But  now   that    I've  met  you,"   MacAlister  said 


55°  THE    ROAD    TO    PARIS. 

to  Dick,  "  it's  devil  an  inch  further  I'll  gang  east 
ward.  Sure,  'tis  nae  self-sacrifice  to  turn  aboot  and 
trot  back  to  Paris,  for  that  war  has  been  plodding 
along  sin'  'most  a  year  agone,  and  never  a  battle  yet, 
for  whilk  I  should  think  the  King  of  Prussia,  auld  as 
he  is,  would  be  ashamed,  —  as  nae  doot  he  is.  Weel, 
weel,  so  'tis  the  young  lady  of  Quebec  ye  are,  miss ! 
Sure,  Dickie,  lad,  do  ye  mind  what  I  tauld  ye  once, 
aboot  the  wind  of  circumstance  ?  " 

"Ay,  Tom,  but  if  we  had  left  all  to  the  wind  of 
circumstance,  we  should  not  be  this  moment  riding 
free  towards  Paris." 

"  No  more  ye  should,  lad.  Tis  one  part  circum 
stance,  and  three  parts  wark  and  fight,  that  lands  a 
man  safe  and  sound  in  the  snug  harbors  of  this 
warld." 

They  tarried  briefly  at  Mayence,  keeping  the  while 
an  eye  on  the  gate  by  which  Wedeker  would  enter  if 
he  should  continue  his  efforts.  But,  if  Wedeker 
entered  at  all,  it  was  after  the  four  travellers  had 
departed  from  the  city  of  priests  and  were  on  their 
way  to  Birkenfeld. 

From  Birkenfeld  they  went  to  Metz,  where  they 
disposed  of  their  horses  and  hired  a  coach  and  four 
to  convey  them  onward  by  easy  stages.  Once  on 
French  ground,  they  breathed  with  perfect  freedom. 

"And  when  ye  do  get  to  Paris,  lad,"  asked  Tom, 
"what  then?  If  ye  have  a  mind  to  serve  your 


"THE  ROAD    TO   PARTS."  551 

country  in  the  way  of  sea-fighting,  we  can  do  nae 
better  than  seek  out  Captain  Jones." 

"I  think,"  was  the  answer,  "after  I  see  Paris, — 
for  I  never  have  seen  it,  though  I  have  passed 
through  it,  —  I  would  like  to  have  a  look  at  my  own 
country  again.  But  it  is  for  others  to  say." 

"  No,"  said  Catherine,  gently.  "  It  is  for  you  to 
say.  Is  it  not,  Gerard  ?  " 

"When  my  affairs  in  France  are  settled,"  replied 
Gerard,  "  I  am  sure  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic 
will  be  good  enough  for  me." 

Verdun,  Chalons,  Epernay,  one  after  another, 
were  left  behind ;  then  Meaux,  and,  at  last,  one  cold 
but  sunny  afternoon  late  in  December,  the  coach 
rolled  through  a  faubourg,  passed  under  an  arch,  and 
rumbled  along  the  Rue  St.  Martin,  whence  it  was  to 
take  its  passengers  to  a  hotel  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore. 
But,  at  Dick's  desire,  the  coachman  drove  first  to  the 
Pont  Neuf,  and  there  stopped.  Through  the  right- 
hand  window  the  four  passengers  could  see  the 
Louvre  and  the  Tuileries,  as  well  as  the  buildings  at 
the  opposite  side  of  the  Seine  ;  through  the  left-hand 
window  they  could  see,  above  the  mass  of  roofs  and 
spires,  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  flashing  back  the 
horizontal  sun-rays. 

"  It  is  like  in  the  picture-book,"  said  Dick,  softly, 

—  for  his  fancy  had  long  since  transfigured  the  stiff 

engravings  he  had  studied  in  his  childhood.     Then 


552  THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS. 

he  turned  and  looked  at  the  friendly  faces  within  the 
coach,  —  Gerard's,  old  Tom's ;  last  of  all,  the  face 
beside  him,  whose  dark  eyes  met  his. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  was  always  sure,"  he  said,  "that 
the  road  to  Paris  was  to  be  my  road  to  happiness." 


THE    END. 


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An  Enemy  to  the  King. 

From   the    Recently    Discovered   Memoirs   of   the 
Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.     By   ROBERT   NEILSON    STE 
PHENS.     Illustrated  by  H.   De  M.   Young. 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth   ....         $1.25 

An  historical  romance  of  the  sixteenth  century,  describing 
the  adventures  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  Court  of 
Henry  IV.,  and  on  the  field  with  Henry  of  Navarre. 

The  Continental  Dragoon. 

A  Romance  of  Philipse  Manor  House,  in  1778. 
By  ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS,  author  of  "  An  En 
emy  to  the  King."  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards, 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  .  .  .  $1.50 

A  stirring  romance  of  the  Revolution,  the  scene  being  laid  in 
and  around  the  old  Philipse  Manor  House,  near  Yonkers,  which 
at  the  time  of  the  story  was  the  central  point  of  the  so-called 
"  neutral  territory  "  between  the  two  armies. 

Muriella;  or,  Le  Selve. 

By  OUIDA.  Illustrated  by  M.  B.  Prendergast. 
i  vol.,  library  12010,  cloth  .  .  .  $1.25 

This  is  the  latest  work  from  the  pen  of  the  brilliant  author  of 
"  Under  Two  Flags,"  "  Moths,"  etc.,  etc.  It  is  the  story  of  the 
love  and  sacrifice  of  a  young  peasant  girl,  told  in  the  absorbing 
style  peculiar  to  the  author. 


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The  Road  to  Paris. 

By  ROBERT   NEILSON   STEPHENS,    author   of  "An 
Enemy  to  the   King,"  "The  Continental   Dragoon," 
etc.      Illustrated   by   H.   C.   Edwards, 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

An  historical  romance,  being  an  account  of  the  life  of  an 
American  gentleman  adventurer  of  Jacobite  ancestry,  whose 
family  early  settled  in  the  colony  of  Pennsylvania.  The  scene 
shifts  from  the  unsettled  forests  of  the  then  West  to  Philadel 
phia,  New  York,  London,  Paris,  and,  in  fact,  wherever  a  love  of 
adventure  and  a  roving  fancy  can  lead  a  soldier  of  fortune. 
The  story  is  written  in  Mr.  Stephens's  best  style,  and  is  of 
absorbing  interest. 

Rose  a  Charlitte. 

An  Acadien  Romance.     By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS, 
author  of  "  Beautiful  Joe,"  etc.      Illustrated  by  H. 
De  M.  Young, 
i  vol.,  library  i  2  mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

In  this  novel,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  principally  in  the  land 
of  Evangeline,  Marshall  Saunders  has  made  a  departure  from 
the  style  of  her  earlier  successes.  The  historical  and  descrip 
tive  setting  of  the  novel  is  accurate,  the  plot  is  well  conceived 
and  executed,  the  characters  are  drawn  with  a  firm  and  delight 
ful  touch,  and  the  fortunes  of  the  heroine,  Rose  a  Charlitte,  a 
descendant  of  an  old  Acadien  family,  will  be  followed  with 
eagerness  by  the  author's  host  of  admirers. 

Bobbie  McDuff. 

By  CLINTON  Ross,  author  of  "  The  Scarlet  Coat," 
"Zuleika,"  etc.  Illustrated  by  B.  West  Clinedinst. 
i  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth  ....  $1.00 

Clinton  Ross  is  well  known  as  one  of  the  most  promising  of 
recent  American  writers  of  fiction,  and  in  the  description  of  the 
adventures  of  his  latest  hero,  Bobbie  McDuff,  he  has  repeated 
his  earlier  successes.  Mr.  Ross  has  made  good  use  of  the 
wealth  of  material  at  his  command.  New  York  furnishes  him 
the  hero,  sunny  Italy  a  heroine,  grim  Russia  the  villain  of  the 
story,  while  the  requirements  of  the  exciting  plot  shift  the  scene 
from  Paris  to  New  York,  and  back  again  to  a  remote,  almost 
feudal  villa  on  the  southern  coast  of  Italy. 


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In  Kings'  Houses. 

A  Romance  of  the    Reign  of  Queen  Anne.     By 
JULIA  C.  R.  DORR,  author  of  "  A  Cathedral  Pilgrim 
age,"  etc.     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill, 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

Mrs.  Dorr's  poems  and  travel  sketches  have  earned  for  her  a 
distinct  place  in  American  literature,  and  her  romance,  "  In 
Kings'  Houses,"  is  written  with  all  the  charm  of  her  earlier 
works.  The  story  deals  with  one  of  the  most  romantic  epi 
sodes  in  English  history.  Queen  Anne,  the  last  of  the  reigning 
Stuarts,  is  described  with  a  strong,  yet  sympathetic  touch,  and 
the  young  Duke  of  Gloster,  the  "little  lady,"  and  the  hero  of 
the  tale,  Robin  Sandys,  are  delightful  characterizations. 

Sons  of  Adversity. 

A  Romance  of  Queen  Elizabeth's   Time.     By  L. 
COPE  CONFORD,  author  of  "  Captain  Jacobus,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  ....         $1.25 

A  tale  of  adventure  on  land  and  sea  at  the  time  when  Prot 
estant  England  and  Catholic  Spain  were  struggling  for  naval 
supremacy.  Spanish  conspiracies  against  the  peace  of  good 
Queen  Bess,  a  vivid  description  of  the  raise  of  the  Spanish 
siege  of  Leyden  by  the  combined  Dutch  and  English  forces, 
sea  fights,  the  recovery  of  stolen  treasure,  are  all  skilfully  woven 
elements  in  a  plot  of  unusual  strength. 

The  Count  of  Nideck. 

From  the  French  of  Erckman-Chatrian,  translated 
and    adapted   by    RALPH    BROWNING    FISKE.     Illus 
trated  by  Victor  A.   Searles. 
i  vol.,  library  12010,  cloth  ....         $1.25 

A  romance  of  the  Black  Forest,  woven  around  the  mysterious 
legend  of  the  Wehr  Wolf.  The  plot  has  to  do  with  the  later 
German  feudal  times,  is  brisk  in  action,  and  moves  spiritedly 
from  start  to  finish.  Mr.  Fiske  deserves  a  great  deal  of  credit 
for  the  excellence  of  his  work.  No  more  interesting  romance 
has  appeared  recently. 


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The  Making  of  a  Saint. 

By  W.  SOMERSET  MAUGHAM.     Illustrated  by  Gil 
bert  James, 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

"  The  Making  of  a  Saint  "  is  a  romance  of  Mediaeval  Italy,  the 
scene  being  laid  in  the  i5th  century.  It  relates  the  life  of  a 
young  leader  of  Free  Companions  who,  at  the  close  of  one  of 
the  many  petty  Italian  wars,  returns  to  his  native  city.  There 
he  becomes  involved  in  its  politics,  intrigues,  and  feuds,  and 
finally  joins  an  uprising  of  the  townspeople  against  their  lord. 
None  can  resent  the  frankness  and  apparent  brutality  of  the 
scenes  through  which  the  hero  and  his  companions  of  both 
sexes  are  made  to  pass,  and  many  will  yield  ungrudging  praise 
to  the  author's  vital  handling  of  the  truth.  In  the  characters 
are  mirrored  the  life  of  the  Italy  of  their  day.  The  book  will 
confirm  Mr.  Maugham's  reputation  as  a  strong  and  original 
writer. 


Omar  the  Tentmaker. 

A  Romance  of  Old  Persia.     By  NATHAN  HASKELL 
DOLE.     Illustrated  by  F.  T.  Merrill, 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

Mr.  Dole's  study  of  Persian  literature  and  history  admirably 
equips  him  to  enter  into  the  life  and  spirit  of  the  time  of  the 
romance,  and  the  hosts  of  admirers  of  the  inimitable  quatrains 
of  Omar  Khayyam,  made  famous  by  Fitzgerald,  will  be  deeply 
interested  in  a  tale  based  on  authentic  facts  in  the  career  of  the 
famous  Persian  poet.  The  three  chief  characters  are  Omar 
Khayyam,  Nizam-ul-Mulk,  the  generous  and  high-minded  Vizier 
of  the  Tartar  Sultan  Malik  Shah  of  Mero,  and  Hassan  ibu 
Sabbah,  the  ambitious  and  revengeful  founder  of  the  sect  of 
the  Assassins.  The  scene  is  laid  partly  at  Naishapur,  in  the 
Province  of  Khorasan,  which  about  the  period  of  the  First 
Crusade  was  at  its  acme  of  civilization  and  refinement,  and 
partly  in  the  mountain  fortress  of  Alamut,  south  of  the  Cas 
pian  Sea,  where  the  Ismailians  under  Hassan  established  them 
selves  towards  the  close  of  the  nth  century.  Human  nature  is 
always  the  same,  and  the  passions  of  love  and  ambition,  of 
religion  and  fanaticism,  of  friendship  and  jealousy,  are  admira 
bly  contrasted  in  the  fortunes  of  these  three  able  and  remark 
able  characters  as  well  as  in  those  of  the  minor  personages  of 
the  story. 


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Captain  Fracasse. 

A  new   translation  from  the   French  by  Gautier. 
Illustrated  by  Victor  A.  Searles. 
i  vol.,  library  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.25 

This  famous  romance  has  been  out  of  print  for  some  time, 
and  a  new  translation  is  sure  to  appeal  to  its  many  admirers, 
who  have  never  yet  had  any  edition  worthy  of  the  story. 

The  Rejuvenation  of  fliss  Semaphore. 

A  farcical  novel.     By  HAL  GODFREY.     Illustrated 
by  Etheldred  B.  Barry, 
i  vol.,  library  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.25 

A  fanciful,  laughable  tale  of  two  maiden  sisters  of  uncertain 
age  who  are  induced,  by  their  natural  longing  for  a  return  to 
youth  and  its  blessings,  to  pay  a  large  sum  for  a  mystical  water 
which  possesses  the  value  of  setting  backwards  the  hands  of 
time.  No  more  delightfully  fresh  and  original  book  has  ap 
peared  since  "  Vice  Versa  "  charmed  an  amused  world.  It  is 
well  written,  drawn  to  the  life,  and  full  of  the  most  enjoy 
able  humor. 

Midst  the  Wild  Carpathians. 

By  MAURUS  JOKAI,  author  of  "  Black  Diamonds," 
"The  Lion  of  Janina,"  etc.     Authorized  translation 
by  R.  Nisbet  Bain.    Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy, 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  ....         $1.25 

A  thrilling,  historical,  Hungarian  novel,  in  which  the  extraor 
dinary  dramatic  and  descriptive  powers  of  the  great  Magyar 
writer  have  full  play.  As  a  picture  of  feudal  life  in  Hungary  it 
has  never  been  surpassed  for  fidelity  and  vividness.  The  trans 
lation  is  exceedingly  well  done. 

The  Golden  Dog. 

A  Romance  of  Quebec.  By  WILLIAM  KIRBY.  New 
authorized  edition.  Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy, 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  ....  $1.25 

A  powerful  romance  of  love,  intrigue,  and  adventure  in  the 
time  of  Louis  XV.  and  Mme.  de  Pompadour,  when  the  French 
colonies  were  making  their  great  struggle  tQ.>retam  for  an  uiv 
grateful  court  the  fairest  jewels  in  the  colonial  diadem  of 
France, 


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Bijli  the  Dancer. 

By  JAMES  BLYTHE  PATTON.     Illustrated  by  Horace 
Van  Rinth. 
i  vol.,  library  i2rno,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

A  novel  of  Modern  India.  The  fortunes  of  the  heroine, 
an  Indian  Naucht  girl,  are  told  with  a  vigor,  pathos,  and  a 
wealth  of  poetic  sympathy  that  makes  the  book  admirable  from 
first  to  last. 

"  To  Arms ! " 

Being  Some  Passages  from  the  Early  Life  of  Allan 
Oliphant,  Chirurgeon,  Written  by  Himself,  and  now 
Set  Forth  for  the  First  Time.     By  ANDREW  BALFOUR. 
Illustrated  by  F.  W.  Glover. 
i  vol.,  library  i2mo,  cloth  ....         $1.50 

A  romance  dealing  with  an  interesting  phase  of  Scottish  and 
English  history,  the  Jacobite  Insurrection  of  1715,  which  will 
appeal  strongly  to  the  great  number  of  admirers  of  historical 
fiction.  The  story  is  splendidly  told,  the  magic  circle  which 
the  author  draws  about  the  reader  compelling  a  complete 
forgetfulness  of  prosaic  nineteenth  century  life. 

Friendship  and  Folly. 

A  novel.    By  MARIA  LOUISE  POOLE,  author  of  "  In  a 
Dike  Shanty,"  etc.     Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy, 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  ....         $1.25 

An  extremely  well-written  story  of  modern  life.  The  interest 
centres  in  the  development  of  the  character  of  the  heroine,  a 
New  England  girl,  whose  high-strung  temperament  is  in  con 
stant  revolt  against  the  confining  limitations  of  nineteenth 
century  surroundings.  The  reader's  interest  is  held  to  the  end, 
and  the  book  will  take  high  rank  among  American  psychologi 
cal  novels. 

A      Hypocritical     Romance     and    other 

stories. 

By  CAROLINE  TICKNOR.  Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Ken 
nedy,  i  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth  .  .  $1.00 

Miss  Ticknor,  well  known  as  one  of  the  most  promising  of 
the  younger  school  of  American  writers,  has  never  done  better 
work  than  in  the  majority  of  these  clever  stories,  written  in  a 
delightful  comedy  vein. 


8  L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY'S 

Cross  Trails. 

By  VICTOR  WAITE.  Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy, 
i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  .  .  .  .  $1.50 

A  Spanish- American  novel  of  unusual  interest,  a  brilliant, 
dashing,  and  stirring  story,  teeming  with  humanity  and  life. 
Mr.  Waite  is  to  be  congratulated  upon  the  strength  with  which 
he  has  drawn  his  characters. 

A  Mad  Madonna  and  other  stories. 

By  L.  CLARKSON  WHITELOCK,  with  eight  half-tone 
illustrations,  i  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth  .  $1.00 

A  half  dozen  remarkable  psychological  stories,  delicate  in 
color  and  conception.  Each  of  the  six  has  a  touch  of  the  super 
natural,  a  quick  suggestion,  a  vivid  intensity,  and  a  dreamy 
realism  that  is  matchless  in  its  forceful  execution. 

On  the  Point. 

A  Summer  Idyl.     By  NATHAN  HASKELL  DOLE,  au 
thor  of  "  Not  Angels    Quite,"  with  dainty  half-tone 
illustrations  as  chapter  headings, 
i  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth      ....         $1.00 

A  bright  and  clever  story  of  a  summer  on  the  coast  of  Maine, 
fresh,  breezy,  and  readable  from  the  first  to  the  last  page. 
The  narrative  describes  the  summer  outing  of  a  Mr.  Merrithew 
and  his  family.  The  characters  are  all  honest,  pleasant  people, 
whom  we  are  glad  to  know.  We  part  from  them  with  the 
same  regret  with  which  we  leave  a  congenial  party  of  friends. 

Cavalleria   Rusticana;    or,    Under   the 
Shadow  of  Etna. 

Translated  from  the  Italian  of  Giovanni  Verga,  by 
NATHAN  HASKELL  DOLE.  Illustrated  by  Etheldred 
B.  Barry,  i  vol.,  i6mo,  cloth  .  .  .  $0.50 

Giovanni  Verga  stands  at  present  as  unquestionably  the 
most  prominent  of  the  Italian  novelists.  His  supremacy  in 
the  domain  of  the  short  story  and  in  the  wider  range  of  the 
romance  is  recognized  both  at  home  and  abroad.  The  present 
volume  contains  a  selection  from  the  most  dramatic  and  char 
acteristic  of  his  Sicilian  tales.  Verga  is  himself  a  native  of 
Sicily,  and  his  knowledge  of  that  wonderful  country,  with  its 
poetic  and  yet  superstitious  peasantry,  is  absolute.  Such 
pathos,  humor,  variety,  and  dramatic  quality  are  rarely  met 
in  a  single  volume. 


UCLA-Young  Research  Library 

PS2919   .S353r  1898 

y 


L  009  603  327  9 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  219615   o 


